Siege of Darkness
by Duneczan
Summary: The Burning Legion has been defeated, but a new evil threatens to overrun Azeroth. The appearance of three powerful warriors merely deepens the mystery.
1. Prologue

Siege of Darkness

Prologue

By: Duneczan

****

LORDAERON, 2 WEEKS AFTER THE FALL OF DALARAN

The land of Lordaeron was a lush land full of life. Now it is a desolate land lorded over by the undead and their demon masters. The once rich farmlands are now covered by the blight; a corruptive evil substance that saps all life from whatever is comes in contact with.

Under command of the death knight, and former prince of Lordaeron, Arthas, the lich Kel'Thuzad, the dreadlord Tichondrius and their warlock master Archimonde, the Scourge and the Burning Legion they serve has decimated the entire kingdom of Lordaeron, and murdered thousands of innocent people. Now, what life is left in this kingdom is sent to labor camps where they toil in dark pits to provide support for their evil overlords. The less fortunate are sent to internment camps, where the demons feast upon human and elven flesh.

With the deaths of their King, Terenas, and the mighty Paladin, Uther the Lightbringer, and the disappearance of the great sorceress Jaina Proudmoore, the remaining populace is disheartened. They have little hope for survival.

Darkness claimed the land as night fell, and a group of Scourge warriors scours the land once more, searching out those last vestiges of Human habitation and resistance. This they found in a small hamlet, with only four homes and a dozen villagers. While the warriors are brutal, they are not very thorough. A single woman and her young son manage to escape their hands. Soon, though, the necromancer in command of the group sees them and orders his minions after them.

The woman runs as fast can while trying desperately to hold on to her child. She can hear the howls of the ghouls behind her, and the yells of their necromancer controllers. Suddenly she slammed into something and fell to the ground, her son falling with her. As the child began to cry, the woman looked up, afraid to see what had stopped them. Lightning flashed in the cloudless sky, illuminating the figure before her. She sighed in relief when she saw a man with a flowing cap, dressed in armor standing before her. Choking back tears, she reached up to him.

"Help us...please." The man looked down at her and nodded the action barely noticeable beneath his hood.

"Get behind me." The woman grabbed her child and did as she as told. The man closed his eyes and raised his hand, aiming it at the oncoming undead. He then began to chant in a strange language, neither arcane nor elvish. His arm began to glow with a blue-silver light. Pulses of energy surged between his fingers as he continued to chant. As the undead hunting party appeared on the horizon, he opened his eyes. They flared green for an instant, revealing a malevolent look on the mans face. A white beam of energy surged from his hand and headed straight towards the ghouls. They didn't stand a chance. The powerful beam ripped them apart, vaporizing the ghouls, necromancers, and even the surrounding trees.

When it was over, the woman looked up, intending to thank her savior. Only the man was now gone and she and her child were alone once more. A few hours later, she was picked up by a group of resistance fighters, to whom she told her tale.

****

AZEROTH, 2 WEEKS AFTER THE FALL OF DALARAN

Much like the world it was named for, the kingdom of Azeroth has had a troubled existence. Falling into ruin after the Second War between the Humans and the Orcs, the kingdom of Azeroth has gone to great pains to heal its land. Led by the young King Varian, the people of Azeroth had nearly completed their dream. Then the Scourge came and shattered that dream. Once again Azeroth was damned to darkness as the undead legions overran its already overextended defenses. The young king was kidnapped, and his current location is unknown.

Like Lordaeron, Azeroth has a resistance force, but it is not as well equipped. Made up of mainly farmers and militia, the Azeroth Liberation Front continually harasses the smaller Scourge bases and forces and intercepts lightly guarded caravans, freeing any slaves. Unfortunately for the resistance, the Burning Legion has taken an interest in them and, using their many scouts, they have discovered the hidden base of the resistance.

The legion sent an extermination squad to hunt down the resistance and wipe them out. Led by a pit lord, the force of Doom Guards and felhounds swept down upon the resistance with deadly speed. In the middle of attack, the squad was rudely interrupted.

Appearing before them was a man dressed in black robes. At his side hung a sword, in his hand was a long staff topped by a blood red gem. He looked upon the demons and frowned.

"Tsk, tsk. The Burning Legions most powerful warriors, reduced to hunting down a small group of weak fighters. If I weren't disgusted by your kind, I would feel sorry for you." The pit lord stomped the ground with his bladed staff angrily. He glared at the interloper, his eyes full of malice.

"We care not for your pity mortal. You shall soon fall before us, much as these pathetic creatures fell before us."

"Mortal? I left my mortality behind a long time ago demon. And it is you who will fall, not I." He tapped his staff on the ground twice, and two massive creatures appeared from the ground. Resembling the infernals of the Burning Legion, these creatures were ten feet tall and made of fire. Beneath that fire was a black armor, armor that seemed resistant to the fires that raged around it. "I hope you like my pets, because they like you. Killing you, that is."

The two creatures surged forward, striking out at the Legions squad. Try as they might, the demons could not withstand these newcomers. In an act of cowardice, the pit lord began to run. He was stopped in his tracks before he could escape. In front of him was the same man that had summoned the beasts that were now wiping out his troops.

"Fleeing demon? I think not." The man raised his hand and spoke a single word in a language the demon did not know. A twister of white-hot flames formed around the pit lord, incinerating him, melting flesh from bone, turning bone to ash. It was over in mere moments. Tapping his staff on the ground once more, the man unsummoned his helpers and walked off.

The remaining members of the resistance looked on for a moment, then went about clearing out their dead. When they were finished, they packed up and left to find another base, so that they could continue their fight. As they traveled, they spread word of the one who saved them.

****

QUEL'THALAS, TWO WEEKS AFTER THE FALL OF DALARAN

The High Elven homeland of Quel'Thalas was once considered to be the most beautiful land on the continent. Within their tall homes and wooded villages, the High Elves practiced their magical arts, arts that had once forced them into exile. They did not care that they had been exiled, because their magic was their life, and as long as they could practice it, they were happy.

Forsaking the Alliance after the Second War, the High Elves withdrew to their homeland. While keeping a friendly association with the Alliance, the High Elves kept to themselves. Even when the Scourge came and decimated Lordaeron, the High Elves stayed within their homes. It was not until the death knight invaded their lands that the High Elves acted. Led by their Ranger-General, Sylvanis Windrunner, the High Elves retaliated fiercely, but it was too little, too late. Sylvanis was transformed into a banshee queen by the power of Arthas' runeblade Frostmourne. With their general gone, the High Elves faltered and their capital of Silvermoon fell.

With victory assured, the Scourge gave way to the Burning Legion. Knowing the High Elves to be descended from their ancient enemies, the Night Elves, the demon horde severely punished the High Elves. All surviving elves were forced into internment camps, where they suffered pain beyond comprehension.

This night, the daughter of Sylvanis Windrunner, Lysia, is to be executed. The dreadlord Caltheras will soon find out that this is not to be. Just as the acolyte was about to sever the elven woman's head, something flashed past them and severed the acolyte's own head. Turning to see who had dared interfere, the Dreadlord and his minions were surprised to see no one at all. Then a voice came to them on the wind, out of nowhere.

"Killing a poor, defenseless elf woman? How dare you? You will soon come to know death personally. I suggest you pray to whatever dark god it is you serve." After a moment, hell came to the demons. In a flash of yellow light, two Doom Guards fell dead. An arc of green energy followed, decapitating the three felhounds that were unfortunate enough to be in the way. Soon demons and undead alike began to fall before this mysterious force. With hopes of protecting himself, Caltheras grabbed Lysia and placed her in front of him.

"You wouldn't dare kill me for fear of hurting this elven bit-"

"Watch your tongue dreadlord," a voice said behind him. He turned, but no one was there.

"Stop hiding and fight coward!" He growled.

"I am the coward? You are hiding behind a young girl and you dare to call me a coward!" Caltheras whirled and finally saw who was speaking. She appeared to be a young girl herself, with blue-black hair and slightly pointed ears, revealing an elvish heritage. And, by Human standards, she was extremely attractive.

"You, child, have caused all this? I find that hard to believe." He spun around in a circle, his head held high. "Come out now! If you do not, you will have the blood of two children on your hands!"

"Quit your whining demon, for I am here. The 'child' you think stands before you is far older than you may think." Caltheras turned to face her just in time to see her leap into the air with incredible speed. Pulling an overly large sword from beneath her cape, she struck at him. Both his wings fell to the ground. Caltheras hurled Lysia away from in as he writhed in pain. Then his attacker made the killing blow. As the blade pierced his flesh, Caltheras felt its enchanted powers destroy him from the inside out. Caltheras exploded as holy energy coursed through his veins.

The woman placed the sword back beneath her cape and pulled out a dagger. Walking towards Lysia, she cut the girls restraints.

"Go now, Lysia Windrunner, and help to free your people. Do not let your mothers' death be in vain. You will soon find that the demons and the undead of this camp are all dead, and that those trapped here are ready to be released. Do so, and never stop the fight."

With those final words, the woman vanished without a trace. Lysia stood up and thanked the woman silently. She then ran to break open the prison cells so that her people may fight once more.

****

ALTERAC RUINS, LORDAERON, THREE HOURS LATER

A lone figure stood on what was once the upper chamber of a ruined citadels guard tower. Looking out over the Lordamere Lake, his keen eyesight could make out the shape of a massive citadel sitting upon the large island at the center of the lake. His armed was bandaged and in a splint. Two more figures joined him.

"What happened to you?" A man's voice asked.

"Like a fool I tried to assault that place out there. On what the locals call Fenris Isle, the demons built a fortress. It is there that what is left of nobility of Lordaeron, Azeroth, and Quel'Thalas, is being held. I thought that it would be easy for me, but I was wrong. That fortress is guarded on all sides by the undead. Within it is a horde of powerful demons. We cannot hope to assault that fortress as we are now. We will need help. Even when our army arrives in two months time, we would be hard pressed to find victory."

"So what do we do now?" Said a woman.

"We travel to Northrend to see if the Scourge forces there are as mistrustful of the demons as rumors say. After that, we go to Kalimdor to seek out the Night Elves and the demigod Cenarius. That is, of course, as long as our mission here is completed."

"It is. I have successfully rescued the Azeroth resistance movement from total annihilation," the man answered.

"And I freed the elven generals' daughter. I watched her free the imprisoned elves and run into the forests before more demons and undead arrived."

"And what of you? Did you discover the state of the Lordaeron resistance?"

"Yes. They are strong and well hidden, but they cannot hold out forever. I give them three months at most. Unless we can light a flame within these people, this world is doomed, and ours will be next. And we cannot allow that."

The other two figures nodded in agreement. As the sun rose over the mountains and light spilled across the land, the three of them vanished.


	2. The Wardens of Myrhistal

Siege of Darkness

Chapter 1: The Wardens of Myrhistal

By: Duneczan

****

KALIMDOR, IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE DEATH OF ARCHIMONDE

On a precipice overlooking the World Tree, three figures watched the death of a great evil. The ancestral spirits of the Night Elves attacked the mighty Archimonde, using all their might to topple his bid for power. In this, they succeeded. The World Tree, once a proud symbol of life, is now a burnt hulk. While it will heal in time, the World Tree will never fully recover. As the last of the holy fires burnt out, the smallest figure turned to her companions.

"I see we have arrived too late," she said.

"Or just in time," the man on the far right countered.

"Perhaps you are both rights," the man in the center, the tallest of them all, said. "Perhaps you are both wrong. Either way, the outcome is the same: Archimonde is now dead. Our mission has both failed and succeeded."

"I do not think we have failed, my old friend," the man on the right responded. "It is merely a setback, one from which we can recover. Remember that Archimonde was not the only demon involved in the kidnapping." The tall man nodded. The woman merely shrugged. The man on the right shook his head at his companions. "We still have a job to do my friends, remember that always. There are those that need our help, and I do not just mean our brethren, I mean them." He pointed down the mountainside. Below were three encampments of warriors. Each was under siege by both demonic and undead forces. "The Orcs, Trolls, and Taruens of the Horde, the Humans, Dwarves, and Elves of the Alliance, and the Night Elves require our aid. They may be of use to us in the future." Again the tall man nodded.

"You have a point Arlan. You will go and assist the Alliance fighters." The man named Arlan bowed, tapped his long staff with its blood red gem on the ground and faded away. "Samira, the Orcs would greatly benefit from your skills at this time. Help them." The woman did not bow or shrug, nor did she make any other motion of acceptance. She merely leapt into the shadows and vanished. The man in the middle, the leader of these three warriors, took one last look at the World Tree. Speaking into the night, he summoned his horse. The black stallion trotted from the mists, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. "Come Midnight, we have some future allies to save." The horse neighed loudly, and ran off at a hellish speed towards the Night Elf encampment.

The Orc Warchief stood fighting on the ground; his wolf steed was wounded and could no longer carry his weight. The tide of the undead seemed endless, even after the death of their leader. Thrall and the other leaders had thought that once Archimonde was gone, the undead and the demons would become weakened. Now it seems that they have become stronger. Swinging his mighty warhammer, Thrall smashed in the head of a foul ghoul. It was the last of the undead footmen near him, and he took the momentary reprieve to check on his people.

He turned and looked at his camp, towards the warriors of his people, the Taurens, and the Trolls. All were fighting bravely. The Orc and Tauren warriors rushed headfirst in to the Undead, while the Troll headhunters, standing back behind the lines, threw their deadly, barbed spears at the enemy. Next to the headhunters were the shaman and the witch doctors, casting their spells in an attempt the stem the tide of battle in their favor. Over the resounding drumbeats of the kodo beasts, Thrall could hear a vicious cry near him. He then felt something trickle down onto him, sliding down his green face. He brought up his hand to wipe it off. He was surprised to see blood. Looking up, he saw that a group of wyvern were taking on two frost wyrms.

"Foul creatures; go back to the earth where you belong!" He cried. Raising his hand, send sent a deadly barrage of lightning at them. As the lightning struck, another wave of energy struck the undead wyrms. One of them fell to the ground, the necromantic energies holding its body together dissipated and the creature fell apart. A shower of bone, tendon, and ligament followed. Thrall heard yells of surprise from the warriors on the ground. He looked and held back a cry of his own.

A girl was wading through the sea of the dead. The sword in her hand, seemingly too long for her short stature, swung down upon the ghouls and skeletons mercilessly. Her hood flew back in the wind, and Thrall felt something stir within him. She was an elf and, even by Orc standards, she was beautiful. She had shoulder length black hair that shimmered blue whenever light struck it. Here eyes were violet, and they were filled with a cold fire as she slew her enemy. Her lithe body, accentuated by the black leggings and leather armor, could be seen whenever her movements forced her dark brown cape open.

Then reality struck him. Thrall shook his head vigorously, shaking the thoughts from his mind. He did not know what had come over him when he looked upon the elf. Now all he sees is a deadly warrior, an unknown element that could spell either hope or doom for his people. He looked at his defense line and saw that they too seemed to be under her spell. Thrall raised his warhammer and took in a deep breath.

"Lok Tar warriors! Bring death to the enemies of the Horde!" He yelled as loudly as his voice would allow. The warriors of the Horde, blinking and shaking their heads just as he had done moments ago, raised there weapons. With a deafening roar, they raced towards the Undead, who now focused all their attention on the newcomer. Some of the warriors seemed to distort and grow larger, and Thrall knew that the shaman were casting their bloodlust spells.

Pointing his warhammer to the ground, Thrall summoned two shadow wolves. These spirit wolves, invisible to the enemy and appearing to be faded shadows to Thrall, leaped into battle. Thrall soon joined them. As he neared the conflict, he could feel two things happen to him. He seemed to become faster and stronger, his mind was working twice as fast as it normally, he could se much clearer than before, and he could feel the magical energies within his body pulsate with new power. He knew part of it had to do with the bloodlust spell of the shamans, but he could not explain the others. Nor did he want to at the moment, for it allowed him to deal with the enemy quicker and more efficiently.

He let loose another deadly barrage of lightning, sending enemy ghouls flying. Then he saw the woman again, taking on two massive abominations by herself. She did not seem to be having much of a problem with them. Her sword sliced through the ribcage of one, the blood of its mass of sown together body parts mingling on her blade. Thrall watched as the young woman brought her fist up, and a strange, purple light emerged from it. The light struck the injured abomination, knocking it back. As it fell to the ground, just as it had happened to the frost wyrm, the abomination fell apart. She began fighting the other abomination.

Thrall could no longer take it. He must know who this person is, for she is deadlier than any enemy, or ally, he had seen before. Fighting his way towards her, he quickly found himself next to her.

"Who are you!" He screamed over the din of battle. She gave him a sidelong glance, but did not immediately respond. She decapitated the abomination before her and stepped back. She lowered her head and murmured something in a low voice. She brought her head up and her violet eyes flashed blue for an instant. The wind suddenly began to pick up, getting faster and faster. Powerful gusts of wind became torrents of wind. He could see his warriors being buffeted by the fast blowing air, but not as much as the undead were. The elfwoman raised her sword and chanted something in another language. The sword glowed white, its shining light getting brighter and brighter. As it became as luminous as the sun, the light itself seemed to be affected by the wind. The light dispersed, getting caught up in the wind and sailing through the air. Whenever particles of light struck his warriors, they seemed to heal and become refreshed. Whenever the light would hit the undead, it seemed as it they had been struck by a heavy blow. The ghouls, the lowliest form of life the undead have to offer, were being ripped to shreds by the tempest. The wind began to die down, and it soon stopped. What undead were left were so wounded that they fell quickly to the spears of the trolls.

The elfwoman, seemingly drained from the attack, swayed on her feet. She pulled something from the pouch on her belt and put it in her mouth. Her outward appearance changed as she chewed this mysterious item. Thrall and his warriors stared at the newcomer, some with looks of gratitude on their faces. Other, more veteran warriors looked suspiciously at her. Giving the woman enough time to recover, Thrall asked his question again.

"Who are you?" This time she did look at him. The fire in her eyes dimmed and went away.

"My name is Samira Starbender," she said, her voice soft and quiet. "And I am here to help, in case you have not already noticed."

"I did, and I thank you for it. Yet...why did you help us, when your own people are in danger elsewhere?"

"My people?"

"The Elves. They fight for their lives not too far from here."

"I...am not of the Elves you know. My people, much like your own, do not come from this world." Her head suddenly spun to the side, and she looked off into the horizon. Thrall noticed she was staring in the direction of the Night Elf base protecting the World Tree. "He needs my help." She looked back at Thrall, and the he saw that the fire had returned to her eyes. "Thrall, son of Durotan, chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan, Warchief of the Horde, do you wish to know the truth? Do you wish to know why the demons and their minions are still fighting?"

"Yes."

"Then gather a group of your best warriors and come with me to the World Tree. Hurry, we must make haste."

"But-" A firm hand grasped his shoulder. He turn to see the bearded, bovine face of Cairne Bloodhoof.

"Go Thrall. These questions must be answered."

"But my people-"

"Your people need you, yes. They also need you to do the best you can to help them survive. To do so, you must have your questions answered. I will stay here, in case the undead return."

"Very well Cairne." He looked to his people, his warriors. "Who will go with me, into the unknown to fight the demons and answer our questions?" A dozen warriors came forth. Grunts, mounted wolf raiders, and a single shaman strode forward. Another form stepped forward. It was a blademaster. He saw that they were members of the Warsong Clan, survivors of the devastating pact made with the pit lord Mannoroth. Nodding in satisfaction, Thrall turned back to the elf. "You have me and my warriors in your care, madam."

"Gather around me then."

"I thought you said we must hurry? The Night Elves and the World Tree are far from here. It will take some time on foot to get there."

"We do not travel by normal means," she said as she pulled a scroll from her belt.

Just as the mysterious Samira Starbender began aiding the Horde in their fight against the Scourge, the Humans, Dwarves, and Elves of the Alliance found themselves taking the brunt of a demonic assault. Archimondes three remaining generals, Azgalor the Pit Lord, Winterchill the Lich, and Anetheron the Dreadlord, led their forces in a vicious attack on the Alliance. Felhounds and the demons of the Doom Guard appeared from red portals, while wave after wave of infernals fell from the sky.

Knights and footmen fought valiantly against the onslaught. Elven priests and sorceresses stood back and aided the Humans with their powerful spells. Dwarven riflemen and mortar teams launched deadly barrages of explosives and metal pellets towards the demons. In the air, gyrocopters and gryphons, flown by brave Dwarves, aided their ground-based comrades whenever possible, for winged demons would appear from the portals at regular intervals. It was not a battle that was going well.

Lady Jaina Proudmoore, leader of the Alliance remnants, now regretted only bringing a fraction of her forces along. She had chosen the best warriors from Gilneas, Stromgarde, Azeroth, and Lordaeron, as well as many of the survivors of Khaz Modan and Dalaran, to join her in the final battle. Some of her fellow archmages rode into battle astride their unicorns, bringing much needed support to the fighters. Many of the Paladins of the Silver Hand were off fighting elsewhere, and the Dwarven thanes had been entrusted with the protection of the refugees.

Anger coursed through Jaina as she saw two Doom Gaurdsmen double-team a lone priest. She let loose her fury in the form of a blizzard, pounding down upon the demons, wreaking havoc. She ran towards the badly injured priest, summoning a pair of elementals to help protect her and her charge. She picked up the Elf and carried him towards the barracks, where a number of priests had set up a makeshift hospital. Voicing their thanks in the typical elven fashion, a mere nod of the head and a simple 'thank you', the priests rushed their brother into the barracks.

A voice called to her. She turned to see a mage and a knight, both horseless, running towards her. The knights' armor was clanging loudly as he approached.

"My lady," the mage said, "you must flee. The demons grow stronger as we grow tired."

"He is correct madam," the knight replied, "It is no longer safe for you here."

"And where would you suggest I run to, sir knight? No amount of running can help one hide from these fiends, for they can sniff out even the faintest of trails. No, I made a promise to the Night Elves and the Orcs that I would stay and fight, and I am resolute in my decision."

"Madam, please be reasonable. If you perish, then who will lead the people?" The mage asked.

"If _you_ perish who will protect the people? Either way, we lose and the Burning Legion wins. I _will_ stay, no matter the cost." Both the mage and the knight looked downcast. They had feared that Jaina would refuse to leave, but they thought they could convince her. They see now that there is much of her father in her. They turned back to the fight, only to stop short in surprise.

"What is going on over there?" Roused by the tone of the knights' voice, Jaina turned to look as well.

"My word!" She said in shock. Three infernals were attacking their fellow demons. Someone laughed behind them, and Jaina turned to see what new evil had come forth. What she saw were the priests staring up. Following their gaze, she took a step back when she saw a man sitting on the barracks roof. His mouth was open in a full laugh, but there was no malevolence, no evil glee in his expression. It was far more jovial. The man saw them staring, so he picked up his staff and jump from the roof. His cape fluttered as he fell, but he spoke a word of magic and his fall slowed to a glide. He touched the ground softly, and looked at the trio. His face broadened into a smile.

"You should see the looks on your faces," he said with a laugh. "It surprises me how often my golems affect people."

"Golems?" Jaina asked. "Those are golems? They seem to be more akin to the infernals than golems."

"Oh, do not worry my dear, they are golems. The gods, to watch over the many hells they control, created the doom golems. Actually, the infernals of the Burning Legion are but mockeries of the doom golems, and bad ones at that. They have neither the strength nor the intelligence of their originals." The knight moved in front of Jaina, as did the mage. The knight pulled his sword from its sheath, and the mage raised his hand and began chanting a spell.

"Who are you, master of demons!" The knight bellowed.

"'Master of demons'? Oh sir knight, you wound me. I came here to help you, but if this is all the thanks I get, then I can just as easily unsummon the golems as I summoned them." Jaina stepped forward, and laid her hands on her would-be protectors' arms.

"There is no need for this," she said to them. Her gaze went to the man before her. "You must forgive these men, my lord, for they are very...protective of me." The man smirked an nodded.

"A beauty such as yourself is indeed worth protecting, and I can understand their passion for it." The knights' face began to twist in silent fury. "Allow me to introduce myself, Lady Proudmoore. I am Lord Arlan Vermel, a Half-Elven rune wizard, and I am at your service." Arlan bowed, took her hand in his and kissed it. The knight couldn't take it anymore.

"How dare you!" He yelled.

"Peace knight," Arlan said, standing straight and raising his hands. "We have little time left to waste quarreling. My golems are strong, yes, but they are not strong enough to stand up against such a force for much longer. Already I can feel the energy draining from their earthly bodies. They return to their realm soon." He lifted up his staff and ran past them. Without hesitation, Jaina ran after him. The knight looked to the mage, but the older man merely shook his head and sighed. He joined the other two. Cursing, the knight ran after them.

Arlan reached the battle just as his golems disappeared. The Dreadlord Anetherons body lay on the ground. There was no life in it, for now. He was pleased that his golems had been able to defeat such a high level demon. He pulled his sword from the sheath at his side, and began using both it and his staff against the enemy. He would club a Doom Guard, only to slice at it in his next attack. It proved to be a effective tactic. The Alliance fighters, urged on by the appearance of both Jaina and Arlan on the battlefield, fought back harder than before.

They did well until the massive form of Azgalor strode into the fray. The mighty pit lord summoned earthquakes to do his bidding. The earth continued to shake as Azgalor stomped on the ground. A pit opened in the ground, and a group of footmen were unlucky enough to fall into it. Two sorceresses were sliced in half by the pit lords' twin bladed staff as he swung the weapon in his beefy arms. Arlan decided to take out the demon personally. He spoke a few words in the arcane language of magic, and the blood red gem on his staff glowed brightly. A fiery tornado surged from the gem and surrounded the pit lord. Just as it had done to another pit lord not so long ago, the fire tornado melted the demons flesh, and turned him to ash. This time, however, the tornado continued to spin after the pit lord fell. It crashed into the demon army, burning some, incinerating others. Cries could be heard overhead as the gryphon riders herded the winged demons into the deadly funnel.

Arlan saw that the demon horde had been nearly defeated in total. Tapping his staff on the ground once, he summoned another doom golem. It's fiery visage looked down upon him.

"Go on, have fun." The doom golem ran headlong into battle. Suddenly, something struck Arlan in the back. He fell to the ground in pain. Rolling over, he saw a lich floating before him. Its mouth glowed and its jaws opened as it began to speak.

"You...are powerful little creature. To have defeated a demon such as Azgalor is indeed a great triumph." Flinching a little, Arlan slowly stood back up, using his staff for support.

"It's.... Something that...you...wanted...to do. Am I right?" If the lich could have smiled, it would have.

"It is indeed. How did you know?"

"I know that your master is none too thrilled with Archimonde or his lackeys. I also know that Ner'zhul is doing his best to release himself from Kil'jaedens control."

"I see. Now, how should we end this?"

"At the moment, I have no real quarrel with you. If you leave now, I will not harm you. However, if you stay, I will kill you, just because you hit me in the back."

"Very well Half-Elf, I will leave and spare you your life. When we meet again, one of us will not be so fortunate." The lich vanished in green light as he cast a teleportation spell. Having recovered slightly, Arlan straightened. He turned to see Jaina staring at him.

"What was that all about?"

"Believe it or not, but there is a schism in the ranks of the Legion. The Lich King no longer wishes to be chained to the Burning Legion. He wants to rule over everything with his Scourge."

"So why allow the lich to live...in a manner of speaking?"

"Because, the Legion and the Scourge may come to blows. As long as the Scourge have strong leaders, they will last longer. And because of that, the Legion will become distracted, for fighting a war on multiple fronts is very dangerous. That makes our job easier."

"And what is this job you speak of?" Arlan looked off into the distance.

"There is little time to tell you about it. My friend is in danger and I must go to his aid. You can come along if you wish."

"I do not know..."

"Many of your questions can be answered if you come with me. Bring along some of your troops if you wish. Besides, we will need to go quickly, and you will have to help me with that."

"Why?"

"I do not have a teleportation spell ready, and my other friend Samira has the scroll with her. You and your fellow archmages are able to cast such spells without the necessary procedures."

"I see." Jaina held out her hand. "Take it, if it is indeed a time of haste, then I will not waste it gathering forces. Just tell me where I need to go."

"The Night Elf base. If you can sense it, you will feel the presence of an ancient power. Focus on that." Jaina closed her eyes. Her mind wandered the realm, searching for this power Arlan spoke of. Her scrying passed over her base, and she sensed the immense powers of the archmages, the healing essences of the Elves, and the arcane magicks that imbued the Dwarven weapons. She continued on passed the Orc encampment, and her mind was filled with deep, powerful elemental magicks. There was also the faint scent of demonic power, a holdover from the time when the Orcs were slaves to the Legion. Finally, she reached the Night Elves, and found their power flooding into her mind. Their deep love for the planet, and the planets love for them, emanated in waves from them. She felt elemental magicks far greater than that of the Orcs. She sensed the demonic presence there as well, and not just from the demon hunters that take command of those powers. The Night Elves were being overrun, and she could feel it. Finally, she reached the one Arlan had spoken of. The arcane energies radiating from him sent a jolt through her body. She became cold, and began to shiver. She could sense the power was born of the light, but there was a darkness to it, a preternatural presence that was not of this world. Her eyes flew open and she stared at Arlan.

"I...I could feel him. There is something about him that...I do not know how to describe it."

"He has that affect on people, even his close friends such as myself." He touched her hand lightly before gripping it. "I am ready if you are my lady." She looked at him with wide eyes, but she quickly recovered. Closing her eyes to slits, she reached into her soul and grasped onto the magicks that flow through her body. The two of them were engulfed in blue light, and then they were gone.

While the Horde and the Alliance fought against the undead and the demons individually, the Night Elves found themselves facing a combined force. The mystical gates leading to the World Tree are broken, the defenders weak from Archimondes assault. Archimondes followers decided to make this a final attack. Led by the Dreadlord Caltheras, this massive force swept into the Night Elf base. Fortunately for the Kaldorei, the denizens of the forest came to their aid. Mighty furbolgs and owlbears clashed with the demons, while the wily and sadistic trolls launched their attacks from afar. Wolves fought felhounds with tooth and claw.

Thanks to the assistance of the forest creatures, the Night Elves were able to recover. Soon their spells and enchanted weapons were joining in on the fight. Druids of the Claw, transforming themselves into massive, powerful bears, aided the wolves against the felhounds. Druids of the Talon joined the hyppogryph riders in attacking the frost wyrms, gargoyles, and the winged demons. Dark shapes began to fill the sky as mighty Chimaeras came to the aid of the Night Elves. Their powerful lightning breath struck the undead with devastating affect. All seemed to be going well until more portals were seen throughout the land. A large raven flew towards the center of the base, where the leaders of the Night Elves, Priestess of the Moon Tyrande Whisperwind and the Archdruid Furion Stormrage were planning a counteroffensive. The raven landed, and transformed into the form of a druid.

"Priestess Tyrande, Lord Stormrage, I bring grievous news."

"Speak Darasen," Furion said.

"More dark portals are sprouting up everywhere. From these portals new evil emerge. They are demons unlike those we have seen before. There are also massive abominable creatures that tower over the battlefield, striking down our people with little effort. They wreak of dragon blood, yet they are not dragons."

"Thank you for the report Darasen. Return to the field, please. You are my eyes and my ears."

"Yes, Lord Stormrage." The druid shifted into his raven form and flew back south. Furion turned to Tyrande, his beloved.

"Something seems to be stirring the demons on, and they, in turn, are forcing the undead to go forward. Perhaps it truly is the end for us."

"Do not think such things my love. We will show these new demons that the Night Elves will never give up." Tyrande turned to the archer standing behind her. "Shandris, gather my guard. We go to hunt demons."

"Yes priestess," Shandris replied. She ran off into the forest to find the archers and huntresses of the temple guard. She returned a few moments later, with two dozen warriors in tow.

"Will you come with us?" Tyrande asked Furion.

"Yes, but first I must see to something. Be careful beloved."

"I will my love." She and her guard ran towards the southern defense line. Furion turned and headed into the shadowed forests. There he found four figures waiting. Their eyes were covered by black cloth. In their hands were large twin-blades. They were demon hunters, outcast Night Elves that practice demonic magicks. And they were some of the few warriors capable of defeating the Legion.

"You and your brethren have been outcasts too long. The resurgence of the Burning Legion shows that your sacrifices and choices were indeed justified. I ask you to know help us, your people, in defeating the demons."

"We are blind, Master Stormrage," the leader of the hunters said. His voice was low and deep. "Not deaf. We can hear the sounds of battle, the screams of the dying. We can sense the presence of the demons as clearly as you can see the sun and the stars. You needed only ask us to return, and you have done so." The leader turned to his fellow hunters. "Come brothers, our people need us once more!" The three other demon hunters raised their blades in the air. They ran out into the sunlight and ran the same path Tyrande had. Picking up his staff, Furion followed after them.

As Tyrande and her escort neared the battle, she saw the creature that Darasen spoke of. Nine feet tall, and covered in dark red scales, the monster was a fearsome fight. The creature picked up one of the owlbears like it was nothing and ripped it in half. The poor creatures scream was terrible, and its blood flew everywhere. A swarm of arrows, glaives, and spears flew towards the creature. They imbedded themselves into its flesh, but it seemed unaffected. Nonetheless, it responded to the attack. Ripping a tree from the ground, the creature began using the tree as a weapon. Archers and huntresses began flying through the air as they were struck. Other trees suddenly came to life as an army of treants appeared on the battlefield. A soothing shower that seemed to heal Tyrande's tired body began to fall. Looking to the side, she saw a group of Keepers of the Grove, as well as Furion, standing over the battlefield and casting their spells. She could see a group of her fellow priestesses attacking the monster from afar, aiding treants and the remaining archers.

A dark shadow flew past her. Then another, and another, and another. Her eyes followed the shadows, and focused on the four demon hunters. _So that is what Furion was doing. Summoning aid from the outcasts. I hope he knows what he is doing._

"Come sisters, let us not allow our people fall before this beast!" She cried. She reigned her tiger forward and lurched into battle. Her accuracy was deadly, as she fired her bow at the lesser creatures surrounding the large one. With them gone, there will be nothing left to harass her people and prevent them from bringing their full might against the monster.

Just as she let lose with another arrow, Tyrande was struck by the tree-club. She fell from her steed, whose neck had been broken in the attack. She slowly stood up and came face-to-knee with the monster. Only, it was another one just like the first. It raised its club to deal the deathblow, but it was stopped when a barrage of lightning struck it. A glaive flashed before Tyrande, and it sliced into the monsters' scales, wounding it deeply. A strong hand helped her up from the ground.

"You should be more careful. Dracoids may not be very smart, but what they lack in intelligence, they make up for in brute strength. They are also very silent despite their size," a deep voice said. The hand helping her up belonged to a man with shoulder length black hair and steel gray eyes. His face was a stoic mask, showing no emotion at all. His black armor shone in the sun, and the black cloaked seemed to engulf him when the wind blew. He stretched out his hand and let lose another barrage of lightning. The dracoid roared in pain and lurched towards the man. It was stopped by a large black demon that glowed with an ethereal light. It was the leader of the demon hunters in demon form. He slashed at the dracoid with his claws, and fired blasts of chaotic energy at the monster. The dracoid fell before the onslaught quickly. The second dracoid did not last much longer. The demon hunter returned to his Elven form, saluted both Tyrande and the newcomer, and ran off to continue the fight elsewhere. Furion came up behind them both.

"My love, are you alright?" He asked.

"Yes Furion, I am fine. This man, whoever he is, saved my life."

"I thank you stranger. If you had not intervened..."

"There is no need for thanks druid, I did what I did out of necessity. Also, I have no love of the dracoids."

"Even though you share the same heritage?" Tyrande looked from Furion to her savior, then back to Furion. The man just nodded.

Leave it to a druid to sense what I am. Yes, it is true that dragon blood flows through both my veins and its, but I am not evil. My people are mortal enemies of the dracoids."

"And your people are?"

"Daedra, born of dragons and mortals such as Elves and Humans. Dracoids are the same as we are, only they are the spawn of evil dragons and their human minions. Unfortunately, Daedra are born out of love and Dracoids are born out of darker schemes. They are far more numerous than we are." Before the man could say anymore, the ground erupted in an explosion that sent the trio flying. Tyrande and Furion struck a pair of trees. Bands of black energy formed around them, tying them to the trees. Tyrande tried to move, but she screamed in pain as the bands began crushing her. Her screams continued to rise in pitch as the bands continued their attack. Furions deeper howls quickly joined her.

"Do not move!" The man yelled from where he was. "If you move they will squeeze you until there is no life left within you!" Tyrande's screams ceased as she fell into unconsciousness. Furion stopped struggling, and the bands loosened a little. He remained conscious, but he was badly injured. The man stood up, only to be lifted off the ground by an invisible force. Their attacker then appeared before them. He had huge black wings, and long horns on a bald head. His teeth were sharp like a vampires, and his black soulless eyes stared at his prey.

"So you are the great Keirn Hallyn. I had expected more from you." The dreadlord said.

"And you, Caltheras, are supposed to be dead. Samira killed you in Quel'Thalas."

"Oh...that little witch merely granted me access to a more sinister power. When I see her, I will have to thank her."

"Then do so!" A voice said. A yellow arc of energy struck the dreadlord in his chest. The blow was enough to kill his concentration, allowing Keirn, Tyrande, and Furion to go free. The unconscious priestess fell to the ground, but a pair of green hands picked her up. And Orc stood with her in his arms. It was Thrall. Samira landed next to Keirn, and helped him stand up. She glared at the dreadlord with great malice. "When I kill my enemy, I expect them to stay dead." The weakened Keirn looked to his friend.

"Samira, he is no longer a normal dreadlord. Whenever a demon is killed by one of the Runeblades of Kelandair, their energies are dispersed and unable to be resurrected."

"I know, and I am certain I plunged my blade into his foul flesh." Caltheras let out a guttural laugh.

"Oh, you did my dear, you did indeed. But my new master has given me new life in my old form. My kindred will soon be far stronger than they are now." He raised his clawed hands and the earth began to shake. Pillars of fire erupted from the earth, spilling lava to the ground. Keirn and Samira jumped away in enough time to miss being struck by the lava.

"Hellfire..." Keirn muttered. He was beginning to understand what was going on. One look at Samira's face and he knew that she was too.

"With these new powers, my people will become immortal!" Caltheras began laughing insanely. He was rejoicing in his victory. His victory, however, was to be short lived. Sheets of ice began falling into the hellfire, putting out the deadly flames.

"Let us test this theory of immortality shall we?" A jet of flame slammed into Caltheras. Again he fell back, but still stood. He turned his gaze to the one who just attacked him. Materializing before him were Arlan and Jaina. The sorceress called forth another blizzard, and summon water elementals to her side. Arlan tapped his staff on the ground three times, and three doom golems emerged from the ground. Keirn stepped forward, his eyes crackling with energy. Samira stood next to him, her sword in one hand, and a glaive in the other. Thrall laid Tyrande on the ground, next to his warriors, then stepped forward raising his warhammer. Furion summoned a quartet of treants to aid him.

Caltheras suddenly found himself surrounded. Sneering at his enemies, he attacked. Wave after wave of red lightning erupted from his body. It was an erratic attack with no actual target. It was merely a distraction, a distraction that worked. As the light died down, they saw that the dreadlord was gone. As were the demons and the undead that were attacking the Night Elves. There were even no remains left of the dead. It was as if the attack did not happen. Furion raised his staff and summoned a healing rain shower. He walked over to, and knelt before Tyrande. She awoke as the rain hit her.

"Furion...what happened?"

"I do not know. They are gone though, the demons and their minions. All gone."

"Then, we have won?"

"No, you have won nothing but a reprieve. They will return, and next time we will be more prepared to face them."

"Who are you people?" Thrall asked. The gazes of Furion, Tyrande, Jaina, and all the allied fighters around them looked to Keirn, Samira, and Arlan. The battle scarred trio looked to each other. Arlan and Samira both nodded.

"We are Wardens of a world far from your own, a world called Myrhistal. We have come in search of our comrades who were taken form us by the demon god Lorche" Arlan said.

"Our goal here is to return out friends, our loved ones, to our world," Samira continued.

"At least, that was our original goal. Caltheras has just proven to me that Lorche is now aiding the Legion in their fight. Only he is able to bring such power to the dreadlords. Now, we must help you fight him as well as find our fellow Wardens. It is our duty," Keirn finished.

"But why would this Lorche come here?" Jaina asked. Keirn fixed his eyes upon Furion and Tyrande.

"You two lived back in the time when Azeroth was but one continent, back when the Night Elves still practiced supernatural magic. Do you remember what happened?"

"Yes," Furion answered. "Our queen fell into darkness. She was seduced by the power of the Well, seduced by demonic powers. Had she and her court been successful, Sargeras, lord of the Burning Legion, would now rule this world. What does this have to do with the one you call Lorche?"

"Lorche was one of the creators of our world. He and the other three High Gods of our world were of the Titans, a race of beings that are like gods. The Titans helped to bring order to this world, and our gods were a part of that ordering. Lorche coveted power, and he knew how to get it. He convinced three of his fellow Titans- Wotan, Rixan, and Nishala- that they should create a world of their own. That world became ours. Eventually Lorche's plans became known to the others, and a war began. After eons of fighting, Lorche was finally banished from our world, our realm. So he and his hordes of followers, both demonic and mortal, fled to another world. I am not surprised he chose this one."

"And why is that?"

"Because Lorche is Sargeras' brother. His older brother."


	3. The Wardens Tale A Startling Discovery

Siege of Darkness

Chapter 2: The Wardens Tale; A Startling Discovery

By: Duneczan

****

KALIMDOR, TEN MINUTES LATER

The three Wardens and the leaders of the Azeroth nations walked deeper into the Night Elf encampment at the base of the World Tree. Keirn pulled Arlan to the side as they reached the gate through which Archimonde assaulted the World Tree.

"Arlan," he said. "Samira and I will head off into the forest, to see if any other evils may lurk nearby. Stay here and answer their questions as best you can. I would stay myself, but..."

"Keirn, I have known you for most of my hundred and fifty years. There is no reason to explain yourself. I will make your excuses for you." Keirn nodded, clapped Arlan on the shoulder and walked away. Seconds later, he and Samira had disappeared into the forest. Arlan turned on his heel, only to see himself faced with four leaders, each one with a quizzical look on their faces.

"Where are those two off to?"

"They are heading into the forest to make sure the demons have left. Keirn asked me to remain here to answer the questions you most likely have."

"They left you to face a gauntlet? Some friends." Jaina said.

"You must understand, neither Keirn nor Samira are very...out going. Keirn is not one for small talk. He only opens up to his friends. Samira, on the other hand, just doesn't like people. I've known her and fought by her side for half a century and she still regards me as merely an associate. Trust me, you are better off talking to me than them. As a former ruler, I'm used to talking to other leaders, and how to speak with them." Arlan looked longingly at the Night Elf buildings that were on the horizon. "Can we find someplace to sit down? I am tired from battle, summoning so many golems in one day can drain even the most experienced spellcaster."

"Of course, there is a hunters hall nearby that we can use. Follow me." Tyrande led them through the gates and into the base. Now that the demons had gone, the druids and warriors of the Night Elf people had begun to heal, rest, and repair their encampment. The tall buildings that housed the archers and huntresses of the Sentinels came into view. They walked into the nearest one and went to a vacant room. Arlan eased himself into one of the wooden chairs and watched the others do the same.

"Now, I know at least one question that all of you have on your mind. Who are we? As we said, we are Wardens. Fifty years ago, Lorche's greatest servant, the Archdemon Azrael, commanded his generals to assault the mortal plain. You see, both Lorche and Azrael had been banished from the mortal and immortal plains. Lorche was chained to a pillar at the heart of the hellish realm know as the Pit of Suffering. Azrael, during a fight with Wotans greatest warrior, the Archangel Michael, was torn asunder after his defeat. His spirit was bound to twelve runestones, but part of him was still free. That part also was forced to remain in the Pit. However, unlike Lorche, Azrael could roam free. He could find areas where the barrier between realms was thin. There he could contact his minions, which he did often. The war that erupted was devastating. My kingdom, Dyscallion, fell before the onslaught of the demons and their Human allies. The neighboring kingdoms of Myss and Concordia put up valiant fights, but even they fell. However, it was at the beginning of this war that a group of heroes emerged, bent on ending the reign of destruction. They and a number of their allies fought and fought and fought, until at last they came to the chamber where the Runestones of Azrael were being combined. Had that happened, Azrael could return to the mortal plain in his original form and take control. If he had been able to do so, he could easily have gained the power to release his master. Fortunately, the heroes stopped them. They destroyed the altar and cast a spell that hid the runes across the planet. After the war was won, the heroes and their allies scoured the lands, freeing the enslaved and fighting what remained of Azraels forces. The fallen kingdoms began rebuilding themselves, this time with the help of their neighbors. Wotan, Rixan, and Nishala, three of the four gods of Myrhistal, combined their power and banished Lorche and all his children. They then gave their blessing to the heroes that saved their creation."

"Were you one of them?"

"No, Master Stormrage, I was not. However, I did aid them many times in battle, and for that I was rewarded with the same gift as the true heroes of the war. There was Keirn and Samira, as well as the Paladin Pius Arcane, the ranger Alanya Kithel, the Dwarven warrior Rorick Ironhill, the Wicca Autumn Wind, the Stormblade Erik Ravencroft, and the crazed enchanter Jaziz. They were the ones that faced off against the Shadowlord, Azrael's chief general. Myself and a number of others, who were mere acquaintances of these great people, were also rewarded. We were granted the gift of immortality, so that we could forever guard our beloved planet."

"Something must have gone terribly wrong for you to abandon your home."

"We did not abandon our home. The Great Dragons, keepers of the four elements and eldest of all races, vowed to protect Myrhistal in our place." Arlan cleared his throat and drank from the waterskin on his belt. When he had finished, he lowered his eyes and his voice became angry. "Several months ago, I heard a rumor that Cryus Nalain, an elf and another of the Wardens, had mysteriously vanished. Keirn, who had known Cryus for as long as he had known me, and Alanya Kithel rushed to Tamerset, a large city on whose outskirts Cryus lived. They found his hut destroyed and his fellow druids slaughtered. There was no sign of him. A few day later Arielas and Atril Kithel, Alanya's younger brothers, also went missing. It went on and on and on, until only Keirn, Samira, Pius, Erik, Alanya, and myself were left. Then it happened. We were sitting on a grassy hill, contemplating what was going on, when red lightning shot down from the heavens and a red portal appeared before us. From the portal came a demon, a demon that we had never seen before. With him came a large force of winged demons and demonic hounds, whom we now know are called the Doom Guard and felhounds."

"It was Archimonde, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Lady Whisperwind, it was. The fight between us was fierce, but he proved to have the upper hand. Pius, Erik, and Alanya were dragged into the portal. Archimondes forces would have captured us as well had it not been for the timely intervention of Rixan, although we did not know it at the time." For the first time since he began his tale, Arlan smiled. "Rixan, you see, is the god of the wyrms. When Rixan decides to take on a mortal form, he usually does so in the shape of one of his children. This time he chose a very appropriate form. Just as Archimonde was reaching for Samira, a massive shape hit the ground, and an earthquake ensued. Standing behind Archimonde, behind the portal, was the largest fire dragon we had ever seen."

"A fire dragon?"

"Yes, the greatest of elemental dragons, fire dragons are born of the flame. Their scales are made of hardened, crystallized magma, and lave flows through their veins. They are an awe inspiring sight, and Rixans form was much more so. He was over a thousand feet long, and his teeth were the size of a horse. The look of fear on Archimondes face was priceless. He dove through the portal before Rixan could devour him. The portal closed and Rixan changed his shape once more, turning himself into a human cleric. He healed our wounds and told us who had attacked us and why. After that..."

"After that?" Jaina asked.

"After that, we hardly knew what to say. It took days for us to comprehend this new information. However, once we had, we quickly made our decision. We went to the Temple of Wotan in Luxor, the capital of Concordia. We prayed to Wotan and, after several hours, the god appeared before us. He told us the history of our world, and the history of another world that he had helped to create. He spoke of Azeroth, and of the beings that lived on the planet. He also spoke of the evils that followed the Titans, he spoke of Sargeras. Then Wotan said that Lorche and Sargeras were brothers, Lorche being the eldest. We then knew where to find our friends. Wotan said he would open a portal to Azeroth, and he would give us his blessing to leave."

"So the three of you came here, ready to fight the Burning Legion on your own?"

"We did not come alone Thrall. We brought with us an army, a small army, but an army nonetheless. They arrived a month after we did, for we could not wait the month that was needed for the army to be gathered."

"Where is this army of yours?"

"Northrend. We were there seeking clues, but all we found was Ner'zhul and his army of the undead. One morning we found ourselves surrounded by a force of skeletons and ghouls. Fortunately, our army appeared through a series of magical portals. The mere sight of dragon riders was enough to scare them off. We gather the leaders and told them that we would continue our quest in Kalimdor. The army remains at Northrend until the goblins have finished building us a fleet that will transport them to us." Arlan shook his head. "Those goblins had better be doing the best they can. We paid them enough."

"Why not just magic them here?"

"Our magic does not work that way. We have no combat spells that would allow us to move an entire army. Only the forces of evil use such spells on our world, and we wish not to sink to their level. And so the three of us wait, until such time as the fleet has been completed. We were originally going to wait to reveal ourselves until they arrived on Kalimdor, but Archimondes appearance forced our hand."

"Yes, and had you not showed up when you did...who knows what would have happened to us. We had thought that with Archimondes death, the Legion would fall back."

"Lorche's doing, I'll wager. He is a task master. I am sure that our appearance fouled his plans for the moment. However, it will not be long until the Legion resurfaces. And with the new powers that the dreadlords have...well, it is best not to dwell on that. At least we will not have to worry about Lorche resurrecting Archimonde."

"How so?"

"Archimonde has failed too many times. Sargeras may forgive failure, but Lorche most certainly does not. If anything of Archimonde remains in the netherrealm, you can rest assured that it is undergoing painful torture."

"So not only does this Lorche resurrect our dead enemies, he grants them new powers as well. And then there are those that follow him..."

"Yes, Master Stormrage, Lorche has quite a following. Humans, Orcs, Dwarves, Dark Elves, and other dark races follow his whim. The dracoids that you faced are the least of your worries. You will soon find that there are demons that follow him that are far more powerful than Archimonde was."

****

ASHENVALE FOREST, KALIMDOR

"I do not like leaving Arlan back there alone Keirn," Samira said as they trudged their way through the dense forest.

"Arlan is quite capable of handling himself Samira. I have the utmost faith in him."

"You would. You have known him ever since you saved his life from the tyler. But these people can be just as dangerous."

"Samira, I will not tell you again. Arlan can handle himself. Besides, I do not think they will harm him. We did help them after all."

"Yes, about that. Why did you send me to help the Orcs? You know I despise Orcs."

"You just answered your own question. I sent you there _because_ of your dislike for Orcs. You need to learn that not all Orcs are the same."

"Yes, but these Draenorian Orcs are just like our own. Easily seduced by the power of the demons, corrupt, vile, murderous, barbaric."

"And just like the Orcs of our world, they have freed themselves of the Burning Legions influence."

"But for how long? The Warsong Clan certainly reverted back to their old ways quickly enough."

"I do not think Thrall would let that happen again."

"Thrall is young. He could easily be corrupted by the demon essence."

"Give him some credit Samira. Thrall may be young, but he has managed to turn the Horde from its barbarous ways and turn them into a more civilized people. He has returned shamanistic magicks to the Horde."

"Which makes them all the more dangerous." Keirn though about her words for a moment. She was right in a way, for the powers of a shaman can be quite formidable.

"That may be true, but I have faith that Thrall can lead them well." Samira did not answer for several moments. She seemed to be contemplating what to say next. Keirn began to worry. She was never this thoughtful when it came to her dislikes.

"Still, I do not trust those...those _Shrakta_." At this Keirn stopped. He grabbed Samira by her arm and whirled her around to face him. When she looked up at him to ask what he was doing, she saw a fire blazing in his eyes that she had only seen twice before. The first time had been long ago, during their long battle with the Shadowlord. The second time was when Archimonde kidnapped Alanya. It was a look that he gave only to his most hated enemies. She now knew that her words were poorly chosen.

"YOU DO NOT USE THAT WORD EVER...EVER!" He shouted. Samira tried breaking his grip, but she knew it was in vein. Trying to break the grip of a Daedra was like trying to kill a dragon with a pebble. Her normally fierce violet eyes dimmed, and her appearance changed to that of a young child. This was a transformation that occurred only when she was tired or feeling deep sorrow.

"Keirn...I..."

"ENOUGH!. I do not know where this racism has surged from Samira, but you had best dam it up now, for your own sake." He let go of her arm, which she began to rub. Now she knew why the other Wardens tried never to anger him. "We need these people Samira. The demons control this entire world, a world where our friends, our...our loved ones may be imprisoned. We are but three warriors and twelve hundred fighters gathered from nations that are still recovering from devastation. This world, no matter how much we have been told about it, is still a mystery. We do not know where Archimonde may have stashed our friends, we do not know if they have been moved. By all the gods in the Heavens, we do not even know if they are still alive. If they are, then we must find them. In order to find them, we need the help of those who live here, for it is their home. Also, you know how you felt when your people were nearly slaughtered by the Shadowlords generals?"

"Yes," she managed to utter.

"These people feel the same way! Lordaeron, Kul Tiras, Quel'Thalas, Khaz Modan , Gilneas, Azeroth, all lie in ruins because of the Scourge and the Burning Legion. Thousands are dead, thousands more are either dying or in hiding. The Orcs are nearly extinct because they have been hunted almost endlessly by both the Alliance of Lordaeron and the Legion. The Taurens are in the same boat because of the Centaurs. And the Kaldorei...the fate of the Night Elves lies in whether or not _that_ reawakens." He pointed to the charred and burned World Tree. They are in as bad a shape as we were fifty years ago, if not more so."

"You're saying that our concerns should not be solely placed on the lives of our comrades, but on these people as well?"

"Yes. Myrhistal and Azeroth have more in common than just our gods. It seems as if both our worlds are intertwined in the same circle of death and destruction. What one feels the other feels also. What one loses so does the other. If one falls, so goes the other."

"I see your point Keirn. We need them as much as they need us. They can help us find our friends, just as we can aid them in taking back their world. It still does not seem like a fair trade."

"It is more than fair. In fact, I believe that when this is over, we will owe them a great debt."

"How do you mean?" Keirn took a moment before answering. The fire in his eyes had died out some time ago, but was now being replaced by a deep sorrow.

"You know love, correct?"

"I..." Samira didn't know how to respond. Never before had she ever spoke of her emotions in such an open manner. Except for once, with... "Yes Keirn, I know love. Although this is the first that I have ever admitted it." Even though their task was dire, she knew she had to get this out. It just felt right. She found a rock and sat down on it. "The first time I ever met a man outside of my village, I nearly killed him. That man was Rygus Ravencroft, Erik's brother. Despite the fact that I showed outward signs of aggression towards him, he never gave up being kind to me. Then, one day, everything changed. I found myself _wanting_ to be in his company, to be with him. So yes, I do know love, but I do not know what that has to do with anything."

"I, too, know love Samira. Oh, I was once like you. I loathed other races deeply. Humans killed my mother, elves murdered my people, albeit long ago. And yet, the first person I had ever called friend was of both human and elven blood."

"Arlan."

"Yes. And then I met Cryus Nalain, and also the Ravencroft brothers. They were my friends, my colleagues, and I would do anything for them. It wasn't until I met an elven woman in the halls of a ailing king that I felt something within me. Oh, we did not much like each other in the beginning. Yet we did grow close, and we in fact began to love one another." Keirn's voice grew soft as he remembered pleasant memories. "For the first time in my life I was truly happy. But then Alanya was ripped away from me. Her loss created a hole in me that nothing can fill. If I can find her again, if I can be reunited with her, that hole will by filled. And if these Elves, Dwarves, Humans, Orcs, Trolls, and Taurens are the ones that help me find her, the debt I will owe them will be eternal. Do you not feel the same way?"

"Yes...yes, I honestly do."

"Good." He held out his hand to her. "Come, we are on a hunt, remember?" She took his hand and stood up.

"Keirn, I'm sorry for what I said. I did not mean-"

"Yes, you did. But you are forgiven for now. We will leave it at that." The softness that had been in his voice only a moment before had been replaced by a hard edge. Samira sighed. _It's going to be a long day_.

Back at the Night Elf base, Arlan continued answering the questions the leaders ask him. He had told the story of how Keirn had saved him from a tyler, a dragon like creature that has a mean temperament, when he was a child. He told them about the dragons of their world, how they are divided among elemental, chromatic, and metallic dragons, and how each type of dragon divided among dragons and dragonlords. He now spoke of his kingdom, Dyscallion, and its capital of Havensvale.

"Dyscallion is a beautiful place. Rolling hills of green, lush forests of thick trees, vast plains, towering mountains, all these and more make up the land of Dyscallion. Havensvale, where I once ruled, overlooks the Great Sea. Built between three rivers that cascade over the cliff in waterfalls, Havensvale is one of the most serene, most beautiful places I have been honored to walk through. Even the massive keep, the Eternia Fortress, somehow adds to Havensvale's majesty."

"You sound as if you miss it greatly."

"Oh, I do young warchief. However, while nothing can replace my homeland in my heart, this place relieves my grief. Kalimdor truly is a wondrous place. I can feel the magical energies flowing through the trees and the air. I-" He was interrupted when a Night Elf came walking into the room. It was the one called Shandris, one of Tyrande's generals.

"Forgive the intrusion, but I have just hear news of great importance."

"Speak Shandris. Our friend here has been speaking for quite some time. I am sure he welcomes the intrusion," Tyrande said, looking at Arlan. He nodded his head, and again took a sip from his waterskin. Shandris looked at the half-elf, as if just now noticing him. She then looked back to her leader.

"Priestess, our scouts have seen something...remarkable. Not one but two dragons of immense proportions head this way. One from the north and another from the east." No one noticed, for they were all shocked by this news, that Arlan looked up suddenly. It wasn't until he spoke that they remembered he was there.

"Tell me, what color were these dragons?"

"One was a brilliant emerald green. The other was much darker, nearly black as night. Some scouts report that this black one also bears red and grey markings."

"It is possible that Deathwing returns," Furion said. His eyes were glowing with hatred. "His spawn have been trying to claim this land for eons. The green dragon...it is possible that Ysera has come to fight him."

"I do not think so, Master Stormrage," Arlan said. All heads turned to him. They all wore quizzical expressions." "Lady Shandris, was the green dragon coming from the north and the black dragon from the east?"

"Yes...how?"

"And your scouts have thus far been unable to attack them?"

"Yes. They are overcome by a feeling of great awe, and something compels them not to attack."

"Then you need not fear. You may have heard that Keirn, Samira, and I brought dragons with us from Myrhistal. Those two dragons you describe are very important, very close friends of ours. The green dragon is named Gorbash, and he is a dragonlord, which explains his size. He was left behind in Northrend and was told to contact us when our forces were ready to depart. The other is Briog, a child of red and black dragons. He, too, is a dragonlord and equal in size and power to Gorbash. He stayed behind in Lordaeron, to watch over the rebel factions in each of the nations there. They have traveled long and hard, so they will not reach us until morning. As for what your scouts felt, it is called Dragonawe. While the evil dragons of our world have an aura of fear around them, the good dragons make others feel nothing but awe. They do not like being fired upon for now reason, so that is why the good dragons use this Dragonawe."

"And you are sure you can trust them?" This from Jaina.

"Oh yes. You see, these dragons are the friends, servants, and familiars of Keirn Hallyn."

Dusk fell and night began to take over the land. Shadows deepened and a fine mist began to form over the forested regions of Ashenvale. The sky, clear of clouds, was filled with bright, shining stars. To those that have dwelled on Kalimdor for ages, it was nothing new. To those who have only recently called the land home, it was still unsettling. To Keirn and Samira, far away from the burning fires of war camps, it was just another night. For the two of them, both being children of nature, the night brought peace and comfort. It also allowed their sense to be used to their fullest. Samira, child of the Saras, descendents of both the ancient Calad'hrim and the vile, yet equally ancient Dark Elves, was accustomed to the night. By day her Calad'hrim heritage ruled. By night, it was the power of her Dark Elf ancestors that reigned supreme. Masters of the night, they could see farther at night than any other creature, save the mighty dragons. Keirn, child of both human and dragon, inherited his mothers infravision and 'nethersense', the ability to feel the presence of others through their spirit and auras rather than through sight, so the night posed no problems for him. They also seemed to move faster in the dark, especially Samira, where her shadowmelding abilities came into their own. Flitting among the trees with exceptional speed, Samira scouted ahead to watch for dangers. It was Keirn, however, and his nethersense that discovered danger. He raised his hand, and Samira saw the signal. Both of them moved into the trees quickly and quietly.

"What did you sense?" Samira asked, her voice a barely audible whisper.

"Something dark. Something ancient." Keirn replied, his voice a whisper as well, though not as soft as hers.

"Can you tell what it is?"

"No. It is odd, for I feel both great evil and great good. The good is being suppressed somehow, but not by the evil. The evil is some distance from the good." Voices, several of them fairly loud, came up on the wind. The two Wardens crouched low, waiting to see what comes by. They had left the beaten path some time ago, and had been walking roads long unwalked by any mortal creatures. Their keen senses began picking up the sound of footsteps, loud ones, ones wearing armored boots. There was also something else, almost snakelike in its sound.

"I count thirty, maybe forty different steps." Samira whispered.

"Thirty-eight and two others. The footfalls are very familiar, but these lands are strange, and can cloud our assessments. The other two..."

"The sounds of serpents moving slowly along the land." Keirn nodded in agreement. The two continued their watch, until a faint light could be seen coming towards them. Then a pair of figures appeared. They had green skin beneath horned helms. Their backs held massive axes and broad swords. Metal shields hung from their arms, and their heavy black armor absorbed the light they carried. The two were of a species both familiar and new to the world of Azeroth.

"Orcs..." Keirn said, his voice a barely audible growl. These were not the Orcs of Draenor, brought to Azeroth through the machinations of the sorcerer Medivh. These were the Orcs of Myrhistal, servants of Azrael and harbingers of death and famine.

"Look Keirn, they bear the mark of the Night Hammer and Stone Breaker Clans."

"First of the clans to join Azrael's mission."

"And the evilest of the Orcs of our world. They-" Whatever she was about to say was cut off by the appearance of two creatures that were unlike any seen by the normal folk of Azeroth. They were also the bane of the Wardens. They stood seven feet tall, on serpentine tails that extended another several feet behind them, and had the torso, arms, and head of a human, although the eyes were far from human. They were Naga, fearsome demon sorcerers of the Pit, favored servants of Lorche. It is their magic that was used to encase the Wardens in crystal prisons during the war fifty years ago. Their presence here means that the captured Wardens may have met the same fate they did long ago. "Keirn..."

"I see them. We must be very careful. One false step and-" He moved his hand across his throat. While not overly powerful, Naga are capable of imprisoning even the mightiest of warriors in stasis prisons. For this reason alone are they considered highly dangerous, and even Lorche and Azrael use them only on certain missions. "Whatever the reason for their presence, it must be of great importance. Lorche would never risk using them on anything mundane."

"And how are we to find that out? A frontal assault is out of the question here. Those Orcs we could handle easily, but the Naga..."

"I know, but I have just the spell that will take care of them. All I need is a diversion." Samira smiled and nodded.

"We are fortunate, then, that night has fallen. I work best in the dark, and those creatures are rather poor at nightvision." Samira seemed to fade into the darkness of the shadows. Keirn sensed that she had gone from her place next to him and jumped across the way. It did not surprise him that it took such a short time to do so. Her shadowmelding skills are far superior to those of the Night Elf females. _I must remember to tell her to _not _teach the Sentinels that form of the technique. It would greatly unbalance the scales._ He banished that thought. Now was not the time to let thoughts go askew. Keirn pulled out the small sapphire crystal that hangs around his neck and began to chant. At that same time, Samira began her diversion.

A green arch of energy flew towards the Orc warriors. While Samira could easily have killed the two warriors, she wanted them disoriented, not dead. At least, not yet. Turning on its muscular tail, one of the Naga threw a fireball towards Samira's location. She was gone already, but the light from the flame illuminated her black clad leg as he jumped away. Again she launched another of her shadow archs towards the enemy.

As she did this, a change came over Keirn. His black and silver armor seemed to melt away and robes of green and black began to form. The sword in his hand began to grow long, and changed from metal to wood, sharp to blunt. The robes that form are of ancient make, created by Deadric sorcerers of Myrhistal ages ago, before demons roamed the land. They were given to him by the elder of his mothers clan. It was a powerful set of robes, blessed by the god Rixan himself. While Keirn had little need for the power enhancing aspects of the robes, he had decided to wear them out of respect and honor for his elders. It was a decision he had not learned to regret. Whenever he wore them, he felt as if the entire might of his dragon ancestors was behind him. In a sense, he was right. The robes granted him access to spells long forgotten, even by the current dragons of his world. Many secrets had died during the time when demon and dragon fought each other. Many of those were imbued within these robes.

Keirn's transformation was completed, and the black robes with green overrobe flowed around him as he stood. Placing the magical staff before him, he began to chant. The words came easily and flowed freely from his mouth. He spoke in the ancient dragon tongue of magic, different from that which human and elven spellcasters speak on Myrhistal. Finally, he spoke the four words of power that would invoke his spell. His eyes flashed as he finished chanting and the crystal sphere at the top of the staff glowed brightly.

It was then that the Naga realized it was a trap. It was then that they realized it was too late. Storm clouds formed rapidly overhead. Lightning flashed between them, the flashes coming quicker and quicker as the clouds began to cover the sky. Keirn raised his staff and slammed it to the ground. Lightning struck the earth. It was not just one lightning bolt that struck, it was dozens, hundreds, thousands, that hit the ground. They hit the Orcs and the Naga. The demonic spellcasters tried in vain to protect themselves, but even they could not withstand the might of the lightning storm. The lightning began to subside, fewer and fewer bolts were hitting the ground. Then they stopped falling. The storm clouds receded, and the starry night once again filled the sky. Samira jumped form one of the branches of a tree, while Keirn stepped from the forest and onto the path. The smell of burnt flesh filled the night air. Keirn wrinkled his nose.

"I forgot how badly the lightning storm seared the flesh," he said. Samira looked down in disgust.

"And I though they smelled bad when not burned to a crisp." She looked up at Keirn and gave him and angry look. "The next time you decide to use that spell, warn me. You nearly hit _me_ back there."

"My apologies. I though you had realized what spell I would cast. Not many spells in my repertoire would work on a group as spread out as this one."

"Yes...well..." She would have continued, had it not been for the look on Keirns face. "What?"

"The sense of goodness I felt still exists and is nearby. In fact..." He turned on his heel, only to come face to face with a large chest. Upon the trunk were runes of power and, after Keirn cast a spell of detection, spells of warding.

"You think that whatever it is you felt is coming from within it?"

"Of course. The aura of good is coming from this chest." Keirn spoke a few words of magic. A faint white shell formed over the trunk, the sign of the warding spells. Keirn spoke a few more words of magic, and the shell shattered. Samira bent down to open it, but Keirn stopped her. "We must not open it here. It isn't safe."

"Then where?"

"Back at the camp." He pointed to the runes. "Look closer Samira. Look at the runes." She did, and recoiled in fear.

"It is inscribed with the runes of death and decay! Had I opened it..."

"Then you would now be dead. Even I cannot break rune spells. Only Arlan can." Of all the Orders of Magic that control the magicks of Myrhistal, only the Rune Wizards dare study the ancient runes of Azrael, from which archdemon drew his power. Although the runes are safely guarded back on Myrhistal, and no longer in the hands of Azrael or his master, their power still emanates on Azeroth. Only Arlan, himself a Rune Wizard, can hope to open the trunk without causing disaster.

"Okay, what next? I know you could easily lift this chest, but it is too wide for even you to carry."

"You still have that teleportation scroll right?"

"Yes."

"And has it had enough time to regain its energies?"

"I don't know." Samira pulled the scroll from her belt and looked at it. Silver writing was scrawled on the parchment, in the spidery lettering of magic. "Yes, it is ready to use once again."

"Then do so." Samira nodded and began reading the scroll. White light surrounded them both, and the trunk, and all three vanished.

"So you see," Arlan said to the gathered leaders, "not only do the dragons of our world interfere with mortal affairs, they do so on a regular basis. While this is generally frowned upon by wyrmic elders, it is common practice. Granted, they do so in the guise of a mortal, but the interference is still there. It is a far cry from what Alexstrasza and her ilk do. No, the Aspects, save for Deathwing, do not care much for interfering with the mortal races. Although I've heard rumors that some of the Red Flight has-" A brilliant light filled the chamber that they were speaking in, and a load 'thunk' was heard as something heavy hit the floor. Thrall, Jaina, Furion, and Tyrande turned to see Samira and a robed figure standing behind them, a large chest between them. The robed figure pulled back his hood and revealed himself to be Keirn Hallyn.

"When did you find the time to change clothes, Master Hallyn?" Furion asked. "And why is there a wooden chest on the floor?"

"The first is a question that can be answered later," Keirn replied. "The latter is something that must be addressed quickly. Thrall, if you would be so kind as to help me lift this thing onto that table you are sitting at..." The warchief nodded and walked over to help the Deadra. Grunting, both men pulled the chest off the floor and carried it over to the table. With another loud 'thunk', the chest was put down heavily. Still sitting, Arlan stared at the chest before him, and then at Keirn.

"A present? For me? Keirn, you shouldn't have." Arlan smiled as he said this, although he was already standing up to inspect the runes that glowed faintly. "I can see you found an interesting treasure my friends. I'm also pleased that you didn't try opening it yourselves."

"One of us almost did," Samira said softly. Arlan looked back at her and arched an eyebrow. He said nothing, and turned his eyes back to the puzzle before him. "Hmm..."

"Can you open it?" Keirn asked.

"Yes, although I will need some help. The Rune of Death is something I know much about, as it is one of the Twelve, however, the Rune of Decay is one of the Stones Minor, and not something my order focuses on." Arlan pulled a silver coin from his pouch and placed it on the table. He tapped the center twice and bent down to it. "Time to come out, my little friend. Your hibernation is at an end." The natives of Azeroth looked at Arlan in astonishment. Talking to coins of any type is usually something that only the insane do. Yet Arlan did not seem as if he had lost any of his faculties. However, to their even greater astonishment, the coin began to glow with a silver aura. It began to melt and reshape itself, growing larger and changing color as it did so. The coin took on a draconic form, with golden hued scales. the aura faded, and standing before them on the table was a small, golden dragon that was barely over two feet in length.

It stretched its wings outward, almost as if they had been flush against the dragonlings body for a long time. It then stretched its entire body, moving like a cat doing to the same. Once it was finished stretching, the small creature sat on its haunches and twirled its long tail around its lower body. Red eyes looked up at Arlan, and a wyrmic smile crossed the creatures face.

"What is that?" Jaina asked, a question the others were to awed to ask. The creature turned its long neck to face the human sorceress. It bowed its head and opened its small mouth.

"I, my lady, am a Kodragon," it said, with a deep voice that did not fit its body. "My name, among you mortals, is Lightning." Lightning looked back at Arlan, the smile gone from his features. "And exactly how long was I pent up in that coin _this_ time?" He asked. Keirn stifled a laugh, and even Samira seemed to be forcing herself not to smile.

"That can wait Lightning," Arlan said. "Right now we need to see what was so important that they had to use the Death and Decay runes to seal this." He pointed to the chest. The small, golden Kodragon looked at the chest. It spoke a word of magic and several more runes flared to life.

"Yes, and there are also the Runes of Fire, Power, and Abyss," the Kodragon said. "Somebody certainly doesn't want you to find out what's in here." Together, the wyrm and the wizard began looking over the chest. Arlan's hand touched something wet, and when he looked down to see what it was, he saw a dark liquid on the side.

"So Keirn, when did you find the time to fight Orcs?" He asked, without looking away from his task.

"They were guarding the chest, along with-" He stopped. Thrall had turned to stare at him, his hand down on his warhammer. He looked angry.

"You fought Orcs? My people?" He asked, his voice filled with anger.

"No, not your people. Had they been your people, I would have greatly questioned your sincerity when it comes to defeating the demons that once held your people in their power. The Orcs Samira and I faced were not of this world or of Draenor. They were of Myrhistal, so they were _our_ Orcs. There are subtle differences between your kind and theirs, the main one being that their skin is a darker hue of green, and they are far more violent and bloodthirsty in battle, even the good ones. These Orcs belonged to two clans that would slaughter your people without a single thought if they had the chance." Keirn looked at the warcheif. "Besides, I knew they were evil just by the company they kept. There were two Naga with them, which are powerful sorcerers of the demonic hordes. No creature forced to serve demons would walk among them willingly, and these Orcs were definitely quite willing to work alongside them."

"You took care of the Naga then?" Arlan asked. "Was that thunderstorm I heard your work?"

"Yes, it was."

An hour passed, an hour of silence. Arlan and Lightning worked non-stop on trying to open the chest. Finally, Arlan and his familiar stepped away, both looking very tired.

"It is done. The chest may now be opened safely," Lightning said. He sat back on his haunches like he had before. Arlan fell heavily into the wooden chair he had used previously. Keirn walked towards the chest and opened it slowly. He gasped when he saw its contents.

"It can't be..." Samira stepped up next to him and did the same.

"Impossible. There is no way the demons, or their followers, could have touched these!" She said. The leaders of the Alliance, the Horde, and the Night Elves all looked strangely at the Wardens.

"What? What is in the chest?" Tyrande asked. Without answering, Keirn reached into the chest and pulled out a sword, one that was longer than the chest was wide. "Weapons?"

"That is not an ordinary sword, Priestess Tyrande," Thrall said. "I can sense the Spirit of Fire calling out to it. And the sword answers."

"It would," Arlan answered. "That is Embris, Sword of Soulfire. Forged nearly four hundred years ago in the Human kingdom of Fervor by Daedric blacksmiths, enchanted by Daedric wizards, and used to fight off the demonic hordes during the Third War." Keirn laid the blade on the table and pulled his sword from its scabbard. The gathered leaders just now noticed that he once again wore his black and silver armor. The sword in his hand was identical to the one on the table, even though one was a claymore and the other a long sword. "And that is Anarsul, the Soulreaver. Forged at the same time as Embris. And, if I am not mistaken, the other two sister-swords are within the chest." That they were. With an almost reverent move, Keirn pulled out two more longswords. "Those are Vendryl, the Soulcleaver and Cylren, the Soulsplitter. All four swords were made by the Fervor kingdom, and are called the Soul Swords of Fervor. How they managed to be placed in that chest is beyond me. Vendryl is the blade of Pius Arcane, and Embris is wielded by Erik Ravencroft. Cylren has been lost in time ever since Fervor fell into darkness. What else lies within the chest Keirn?"

Both Keirn and Samira began pulling more from the chest. Other than the three Fervor swords, there were three katanas, curved swords with extremely sharp blades, three warhammers, a longbow and a staff. Samira took our her sword, and it matched the three katanas, although her weapon was slightly longer.

"Odd," Samira said. "These are the weapons of our fellows, but not all of them. This longbow is yours I believe Keirn. And this staff belonged to Atril Kithel, Alanya's youngest brother."

"They are," Keirn replied. "We have here, reunited for the first time ever, the four Soul Swords of Fervor, the four Runeblades of Kelandair, and three of the four Hammers of Dalius. All of these weapons were created to fight the demons, and none of them are able to be wielded by demons, let alone touched. Where, I wonder, is Kerdal, the Maul of Power."

"Why do you wonder that?" Thrall asked.

"Well, when the Daedra of Fervor created the Soul Swords, Anarsul was the first one forged. As you can see, it is longer and larger than the others. The Knights of Fervor used longswords and shields in their battles, therefore a claymore would be hard for them to wield. Which is why it was never used until it came into my possession. The same can be said for the Hammers of Dalius. Three of them are easy for regular humans to handle. However, Kerdal was far larger than the others, and could only be wielded by three races. Of those three races only two of them are in abundance on Azeroth."

"Orcs and Dwarves," Jaina said.

"Exactly. On Myrhistal, only Daedra, Orcs, and Dwarves are able to carry Kerdal. That maul was handed down through many generations of Dwarven warriors, until it came into the hands of the Orc chieftan Gel'roc. He handed it down to his children, who handed it down to their children. Then, a powerful Orc by the name of Kaloth became its master. Kaloth is one of the Wardens."

"After what you have said, it is surprising to hear that an Orc is one of the Wardens."

"That it is, Thrall. Kaloth once led the Doombringer Clan, but was overthrown when he refused to allow the demons to control his people. He now commands the nearly three thousand remaining Orcs on Myrhistal. For his valiance during the Great War, and the fact that he and two hundred of his best warriors held off the demon hordes while myself, Samira, and the others destroyed the altar within the Temple of Runes, is what made the gods grant him that gift of immortality. Among all the Wardens, I consider him one of my closest friends." When Keirn said this, Samira's head came up. She had not known this, and now she knew why he reacted the way he did back in the forest. She hung her head in shame and cursed herself silently. She was also thankful that she was in the back of the room, where the others could not see her. "Now, Kaloth and Kerdal worked well together. In fact, since that time no being but an Orc could even carry the maul. So, if Kerdal is not within this chest, it can mean only one thing."

"An Orc wields it?"

"Yes." Keirn swayed a bit on his feet, but Thrall and Furion rushed forward to steady him. "It had been a long day. All of us are weary and in need of rest."

"You may stay here, if you like," Tyrande said. "You three strangers have done much for us this day, and we thank you. Please, allow us to show you some hospitality."

"Indeed," Furion added. "I do not wish to know what would have happened had you not arrived. You appearance seemed to send shockwaves through the demons and their minions."

"Your enemies are our enemies, Master Furion," Arlan said from his seat. "It would not have been right for us to deny you aid. However, we thank you for your kindness and gratefully accept your offer. Don't we?" Arlan looked to Samira when he said this. The half-elf knew that Keirn would agree, so his question was mainly directed at the Sarasi Shamaness. She merely nodded. "It is settled then. We will get some rest, and I suggest you should as well, all of you. If your scouts are right, Priestess Tyrande, than Briog and Gorbash will be giving us information that should prove to be quite tiresome."

"How so?"

"Because neither of them have ever been anything but the bearers of bad news."


	4. The Praetorian Arrive

Siege of Darkness

Chapter 3: The Praetorian Arrive

By: Duneczan

**KALIMDOR, THE NEXT DAY**

                Something heavy laid across Keirn's chest.  Opening his eyes slightly, the Daedra saw two red glowing orbs staring back at him.  The light from the eyes illuminated golden scales and a wyrmic face.

                "Greetings, Lord Halcyon."

                "Lightning...why are you laying on my chest?"

                "To ask you a question.  How long has it been since you have released Thunder from his long sleep?"

                "Since he decided to take on a frost wyrm all by himself.  He was injured in the fall."

                "He received no injuries from his enemy?"

                "Not many.  Frost wyrms are the pets of the undead.  They are slow and powerful, but Thunder is small and fast.  He defeated the wyrm rather easily, but he was caught underneath the creature as its skeleton fell to the ground.  That is what caused his injuries.  You may see if he is healed or not Lightning.  Just let me rest.  I have this feeling that either Briog or Gorbash, or both, are going to be bringing bad news."  Lightning hopped off the Daedra's chest and stalked over to the small pouch lying near Keirn's sword.  Fitting a claw into the bag, Lightning pulled forth a silver coin, a coin with the image of a dragon on it.  He took the coin into another part of the barrow den so as to not awaken Keirn.  The kodragon placed the coin on the floor and tapped it with his golden claw.  The coin glowed brightly for an instant, and the shape of a black dragon, smaller than Lightning and no longer than a mans arm, emerged.

                "Greetings Lightning," the black dragon said.

                "Have you slept well my friend?  Are you rested and recovered?"

                "I think so..." The creature known as Thunder, a fire lizard, a race of dragons so small they are no larger than dragon hatchlings, stretched himself.  There was a sudden cracking noise, and a grimace crossed his draconic features.  "Ow..."

                "Perhaps you should not have done that."

                "It's only a flesh wound Lightning.  I've had worse injuries."

                "Oh yes, the time when you fell into that lava pit was most fun.  And then there was the shadow wight.  And then there was the acid wyrm.  For someone who has lived for millennia, you act more like a newborn than an elder."

                "Quiet you..." Thunder hissed.  "You have no respect for your elders." The fire lizard shook his head.  "So tell me, what's been going on lately?"

                "I haven't a clue," the younger dragon said.  "I was just released from hibernation late last night.  I do know, however, that Keirn and Samira fought off a pair of Naga, a small army of orcs, and found a large chest containing the weapons of the Ancient Kingdoms.  Kerdal was missing, and that worries the others."

                "As it should.  Kerdal is not a weapon to be trifled with.  The First are always the ones that should be worried about.  Anarsul, Kerdal, and Synlas, are among the most powerful artifacts ever created.  Fortunately two of those three are in capable hands."

                "Keirn believes, rightly I think, that Kerdal is now in the hands of some orc warrior serving the Legion."

                "That I do not doubt," Thunder sat and curled his tail around his body, with Lightning doing the same moments later.  "Anything else I should know?"

                "Briog and Gorbash return with reports.  They should be here sometime this morning."

                "Indeed?  Things must be dire if they abandon their posts."

                "Or not.  They were told to report to Keirn if anything arose that they should know about."  The smaller dragonoid nodded his scaled head.

                "I know, I much prefer making things more dire than they usually are."

                "Then you truly are Keirns familiar."  Thunders lip curled up in a draconic smile.

                "Why thank you Lightning, that's the nicest thing you've said to me since....well, ever.  You reallydo like me, don't you?"  Lightning growled at his elder, who seemed to delight in tormenting him.  The door to the barrow den in which they were staying opened, and a tall figure entered.  His flowing cape looking much like the wings on a bird.

                "Ah, Master Stormrage, greetings," Lightning said, inclining his head to the Arch-Druid.

                "Master Lightning," Malfurion bowed his head to the smaller creature.  His eye wandered over to Thunder, who was taking a long look at the night elf.  "And who might you be?"

                "You first."  Lightning sent his elder a look.

                "Thunder, this is Malfurion Stormrage, Arch-Druid of the night elves, and also one of their eldest leaders."

                "I see.  Master Malfurion, I am called Thunder."

                "Well then Thunder, Lightning, where can I find Keirn?"

                "Down the hall and to the left.  Arlan is in the other room.  Has there been a sigthing?"

                "Yes.  A black dragon, your Briog I assume, has been spotted over Ashenvale.  He should arrive shortly," Malfurion said.  He turned from the dragons with a nod of his head and headed deeper into the den.

                "Well, this should be interesting," Thunder said.

                Arlan and Keirn stepped out of the den, with the two dragonoids in tow.  Arlan was still strapping on his armor, something that Keirn told him would be useless at the moment.  For the time the Burning Legion was pushed back, realing from the failure of Achimonde, as well as their counterattack.  They would not be returning any time soon.  The two looked over and saw Samira emerge from one of the halls the female Sentinels use as their barracks'.  She shook hands with the Sentinel commander named Shandris and said something to her.  She turned and walked towards the other two Wardens.

                "Making friends are we?"  Arlan asked with a grin.

                "The Sentinels are well trained and disciplined.  We could use people like them."

                "Of course.  Then again, we have enough dourness in our party with you, Keirn, and those damnedable Concordian Paladins with the Praetorian."

                "And I suppose we should all be fools such as you Arlan?"  Keirn cleared his throat loudly.

                "Chidlren, I don't know why you are acting this way, perhaps it is the animosity that the Sentinels feel towards the Druids for being asleep for ages seeping into your veins, but I will not tolerate any of it, you understand?  We have enough things to worry about without us being at each others throats."  He pointed towards the east.  "Our friend arrives."  The two other Wardens looked into the horizon.

                There, speeding across the landscape, was a large black shape.  There were smaller shapes flying around him, winged shapes that also looked like dragons.  As they approached, the smaller shapes took on more definitive forms.

                "It would seem that our friend Briog has a following," quipped Thunder, who had moved from the ground to Keirn's shoulder.  Keirn couldn't disagree.  Swarming around Briog were small black dragon whelps, the young spawn of the mighty Dragonlord Deathwing.  There were also two larger chimeras, which seemed agitated by the presence of the whelps.  The booming voice of Briog could now be heard on the wind.

                "I said get away from me you foul little spawn of a devil!  I am not your sire Deathwing you morons, away!  Hey, you two, if you can get it through your twin heads long enough to listen to me, maybe you can help me get these bastards out of my sight!"  One of the chimeras, not accustomed to being ordered around in such a tone, immediately went after one of the whelps.  One of its jaws opened and a burst of lightning stretched forth.  Briog sent one of his wings down to smack the chimera.  "I said get them away from me, not kill them!"  The same chimera gave Briog a look, but followed his orders.  He sent out more lightning, but this time he shot it across the whelps form and not at it.  The other chimera did the same, and the whelps began to scatter.  Archers began mounting hippogryphs to fly after them.  "No you stupid women, I don't want you to kill them either!"  Briog sent out a roar that made the hippogryphs fly away before the archers could settle themselves.  The women fell to the ground, giving the huge dragon a sour look.  Briog landed in the clearing that had been hastily set up for him, though it seemed to be too small for him.  He looked uncomfortable and irritated.  So did Tyrande.  She stormed up to the dragon, looking very much like a mouse compared to  him.

                "How dare you order my Sentinels around?  They are merely doing their jobs in protecting us from Deathwing."

                "Deathwing is in no shape to attack anyone little woman," Briog said with a growl.  His black eyes flared crimson when he stared at her.  "Nor are his children.  In time, perhaps they will be trouble, but not  now.  Besides there are others that can defend against Deathwings plans more easily than you or your kind.  Do not forget that the other Aspects are wary of him now that their powers have been returned to them."  He brought his head down to her level, causing her to step back a few paces.  "How would you feel if someone decided to kill your children just because of who or what you are?"  His growl was deep and menacing.  "Or does your vaunted belief system say that murdering innocent children, no matter the kin, is fine?"

                "BRIOG!"  The dragons head snapped up.  He saw Keirn, Arlan, and Samira striding towards him.  Keirn did not seem too pleased.  "Just what do you think you are doing?"

                "Teaching the woman that just because they wear the form and color of an old enemy does not make them that old enemy, that is all."  He peered back down to Tyrande.  "I hope I have made my point."  Tyrande nodded, all the while stepping back.  She came to a stop when her back touched Malfurions chest.  He put his hands on her shoulders and spoke in a soft tone.

                "The dragon is right my dear, although he could have chosen a more appropriate means of making his point."

                "Briog has a problem with choosing words appropriately," Keirn said with his own growl.  Briog didn't seem to affected by the conversation.  Keirn looked up at the dragon.  "Briog, polymorph into a more efficient size.  Gorbash should be arriving soon also, and this location is not big enough for the two of you."  Briog nodded.

                "Very well."  He muttered something in the language of dragons.  His form began to shift.  He grew smaller, his features almost turning liquid in the process.  As he shrunk down to twenty feet in length, he reeled back on his hind legs.  His wings folded in upon themselves, and began to melt into his back.  His foreclaws became more human, as did his hind legs.  His tail vanished and his head and neck took on more human proportions.  As his transformation ended, Briog looked very much like a human, save for the unnatural thinness of his face.  This form wore black armor and a longsword attached to his waist.  "Is this better?"

                "Indeed," Keirn said.

                "Alright then.  Now, as to my report-"

                "Hold a moment Briog.  The news you bring to us involves others that are not here just yet."  Keirn turned to Furion.  "Did you send runners to both Lady Proudmoore and Warchief Thrall?"  The night elf druid nodded.

                "I sent one of my most trusted messengers to get them."  As the druid spoke, a hush came over the land.  The gathered leaders and fighters could feel the magical taint in the air.  "I believe that is them now."  It was.  As the wind whirled around them, the faint images of a group of people could be seen appearing from the ether.  Their forms solidified as the wind died down.  There were eight figures.  Three Humans, three Orcs, a Dwarf, and a Tauren.  Jaina had brought along three of her generals: a paladin, an archmage, and a mountain king.  Thrall had done the same.  With him was Cairn Bloodhoof, leader of the Tauren people, as well as Drek'Thar, an aging shaman, and a blademaster.  Jaina smiled at the companions.

                "I believed it to be quicker to just teleport us all here," she said.  Thrall looked around, seeming a little impatient.

                "We were told to expect a dragon.  I do not see one here," he said.  Briog gave Keirn a sidelong glance.

                "Anxious to see dragons, is he?"  Briog turned his human self to Thrall.  "I'm the dragon you were told would be here Orc."

                "You do not look like a dragon."

                "And you do not look like a fool.  You know that dragons are crafty, powerful creatures with control of magicks far beyond anything you could imagine.  Just know that _I_ am the dragon and that _I_ am here."  Arlan cleared his throat.

                "Briog, you're doing it again.  Calm down or I'll be forced to calm you myself," the half-elf said.  A temporary failing of Briog's calm exterior showed that he knew Arlan could easily do just that.

                "Fine.  You'll have to forgive my irritation, but your the second woman I've had to lecture in the past week," Briog said to Tyrande.  From Keirn's shoulder, Thunder leaned forward and peered closely at the dragon in disguise.

                "And it seems that she didn't take kindly to said lecture.  You seem to be healing rather nicely."  Briog's face turned red and he glared at his diminutive elder.  Lightning hovered in the air between them and nodded his agreement.

                "Indeed.  I can barely see the scar."

                "Would you two..."

                "Is there something you'd like to tell us Briog?"  Keirn asked.

                "Well...it does pertain to my report, so I guess I can tell you what happened.  I was out over Dalaran looking into rumors I'd heard of a band of Orcs in the area that were trying to find a way to destroy the demons that controlled the land.  On my journey I noticed a red dragon, no more than a juvenile, flying nearby.  I tried to converse with it, but the little bugger flew off before I could speak to him.  So I continued on, only to find the rumors were false ones.  I began making the journey back to my hiding place when it happened."

                "Exactly what did happen?"

                "Two red dragons as big as I am popped out of nowhere and began attacking me without provocation.  I was just barely able to form a shield around myself before they attacked.  The smaller of the two was doing little to damage my shield, but the big one...she was ferocious."  At the mention of 'she', a few of the more experienced or knowledgeable leaders reacted in different ways.  Tyrande and Furion looked at each other with shocked expressions.  Arlan hid his mouth with his hands, the hint of a smile creeping out over his palm.  He was also convulsing with stifled laughter.  Samira showed only exasperation in her eyes.  Both Jaina and Thrall looked taken aback by the comment.  Keirn made no motion.  Only his eye twitched.

                "You attacked Alexstrasza?"  Tyrande asked.

                "I did nothing of the sort!"  Briog boomed so loudly that birds flew from the trees.  "She attacked me, her and that damndible mate of hers, Korialstrasz.  I swear, kids these days don't respect their elders!"

                "Briog, the Dragonqueen is ten thousand years older than you, she's not a kid," Keirn said.  "And she doesn't attack unless provoked."

                "But I did nothing!  However, after awhile it became clear to her that I wasn't her enemy.  She and her mate stopped.  She said that I wasn't Deathwing, as she thought I had been, and demanded to know who I was."

                "She thought you were Deathwing?"

                "Yes.  Do I look like I've got adamantium attached to my scales when I'm in dragon form?  Does Deathwing have red and grey scales on his belly?  No!  She merely thought I was someone else and attacked me anyway.  I've had enough trouble living on our own world, and now I have to put up with this?"

                "Perhaps you should put the past transgressions behind you and get to what you came here to tell us," Samira said in a weary voice.

                "I'm getting to it Starbender.  So, after Alexstrasza decided to stop attacking me, and I told her who I was, she and her mate apologized.  We landed in an isolated field far away from any of the forces of Azeroth and talked.  The news, I am sad to say, is not good.  The Alliance of Lordaeron, as it once was, no longer exists on Azeroth.  It only exists here on Kalimdor."  Jaina placed her hands over her mouth in shock and horror.  The paladin and the dwarf both wore grim expressions, as did the archmage.  None of them had expected news such as this.

                "What...what happened?"  Jaina asked in a small voice.

                "When King Tyranus was killed by Arthas, you all knew what would happen.  With both Dalaran and Quel'Thalas destroyed, and the king of Lordaeron dead, there were too few remaining that still believed in the Alliance.  Gilneas, Stromgarde, Kul Tiras, all of the remaining members of the Alliance sealed their borders and put up heavy defenses.  What remains of Lordaerons forces on the continent has fallen back on the elder ways of bigotry.  A man by the name of Garithos, a former paladin, now controls these remnants.  He still allies himself with the dwarves of Khaz Modan and the Aerie, and the Elves, but only out of necessity.  He, and his men, dislike both races to the point where he puts them in positions where they can barely even protect themselves, let alone the lands they still strive to control.  For their part the dwarves are proving stubborn, yet still true to the Alliance.  While they dislike Garithos as well, it is not because of what he is, but because of who he is, yet they still seek to protect not only their homes, but the homes of all the survivors as well.  As for the Elves...there's is a sad story."

                "How so?" Asked the archmage, himself an elf.

                "With the destruction of the Sunwell, they seem to believe they have lost all contact with their power.  Instead of drawing upon the water elemental magicks that Dalaran put forth, they have chosen to master the fire magicks instead.  Changing their name to the Blood Elves, they have sworn a blood oath that they will not rest until every single demon and undead has been eliminated.  They also strive for more and more powerful magicks, and their leader, Prince Kael'Thas, seems hell bent on gaining more and more power, at whatever the cost?"  At the mention of Kael's name, Jaina paled.  There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, but she hid it quickly.  However it was not she who spoke first, it was Tyrande.

                "The fools have once again chosen to follow dark path which nearly led to our destruction ten thousand years ago!  It was they, the High Born, who first brought the Legion to this world, and it was because of their actions that we banished them.  They were no longer of the Kaldorei.  The Well of Eternity had so corrupted them that they would do anything for that power!  This Sunwell must have contained some of the waters of the Well, and once again it is because of them that the Legion returned.  They and their demonic magicks-"

                "The fire arcana are not the domain of demons, Lady Tyrande," Briog corrected.  "The demons themselves are the source of no such power, as they too draw their power from somewhere else.  The fire arcana is as much a part of nature as their dark powers are.  You are correct, however, that the Well of Eternity corrupted them.  It corrupted many things during its existence, including Deathwing.  Yet you must know that the Well of Eternity was not meant to corrupt, it was meant to give life.  The Titans wished this, but Sargeras refused to bow down to his former comrades' will.  He used the Well to focus his own powers, allowing them to seep into this world.  It all comes down to that one simple act of evil."

                "I see..." Tyrande said, taking in his words.

                "Is there any hope for our homelands?"  Asked the paladin.

                "Perhaps.  The kingdoms that cut themselves off from each other are faring well, though that is only because the Legion and the Scourge are still bickering over which lands each other controls or doesn't control.  The best news of all comes from Khaz Modan, where a number of older heroes have once again joined forces to combat evil.  And they have the direct aid of the Red Dragonflight."

                "Who warrants such help?"

                "A mage by the name of Rhonin, an elven ranger named Vareesa Windrunner, her niece Lysia, and a gryphon rider by the name of Falstad."

                "Rhonin?!"  The archmage bellowed.  "He is the hope of our future?"

                "Kelen, be silent!"  Jaina admonished him.  "You know the history of Rhonin as well as I do.  He, along with this Vareesa and the gryphon rider were almost single-handedly responsible for the freeing of Alexstrasza from the hands of the Dragonmaw Orc clan.  It is no wonder she now has her brood aiding him."

                "I have heard of the Dragonmaw's defeat," Thrall said.  "It was told many times to me during my time at Durnholde.  They held onto the mountain fortress of Grim Batol for months after the Second War, all by using the red drakes forcibly birthed from the Dragonqueen.  In hearing these tales, I was sickened by their actions."

                "It was the rage, young warchief, the draw of power that caused the Dragonmaw to do what it did," said the blademaster that had accompanied Thrall.

                "Actually they were free of the rage, the will of the demons, by that time.  No, the Dragonmaw continued their attacks only because they wished to survive, as well as destroy the Alliance," Arlan said.  "We were told much of your worlds history before we came here, if you remember.  We know many of the internecine wars, the under-the-table politics, everything that went on here.  Trust me, the Dragonmaw liked what it was doing."

                "And that is exactly what Alexstrasza told me during our conversation," Briog added.  Keirn had been silent through most of this, taking in all the information, calculating all the options open to him and his fellow Wardens.  He cleared his throat, bringing the groups attention to him.

                "The news you bring is not good Briog," he said, "yet it is not entirely bad.  You have confirmed a suspicion of mine: the Burning Legion and the Undead Scourge are not on the same team, for the most part.  I believe the links between Kil'jaeden and Ner'zhul have begun to weaken.  That is good news for us, as it is the unified front of demons and undead that opposes us the most.  With it shattered, we can at least drive the wedge in deeper."

                "And you would do this how?"  Tyrande asked.  "With just the three of you, and four dragons?"

                "Three of us, four dragons, and two thousand of the be best warriors our world has to offer, my lady," Samira said.

                "And any forces that you would not mind loaning to us," Arlan added.

                "Ah, so there is a price for your aid," Thrall said.

                "Yet it is not a steep price, Chieftan Thrall," Jaina replied.

                "No, it is not," agreed the bovine Cairne.

                "And we do not ask for any aid at all," Arlan said.  "While your warriors would be a welcome gift, we would never ask you to reduce your defenses just to repay a debt.  And even if we did ask, it would only be for a token force, a small group from each of you."

                "So you say..."  Tyrande said.  Furion laid a hand on her shoulder, and it seemed to have a calming affect on her.

                "I believe we can take them at their word, my love.  They seem trustworthy, and their hearts appear true."

                "Is that an insight given to you by the Wilds?"

                "Yes, and by my heart."  Briog made a look like he was going to vomit as he heard the two speak.  Before anyone could notice his rude gesture, the archer named Shandris came over to them at a trot.

                "Another dragon approaches, a green one," she said and turned to return to her post.

                "Oh joy, Gorbash is here," Thunder spoke in a droll tone, "my day is now complete."

                For the second time that day, a massive wyrmic shape flew over the sacred forests of Ashenvale forest.  And also for the second time that day, the massive wyrm approaching was surrounded by followers.

                "We all seem to have some sort of draw..."Briog said as he watched his brothers approach.  Gorbash's voice, while softer than Briog's, could be heard on the wind as he called out to his wingmates.

                "Tell me something friend, do I truly look like one of Ysera's spawn?  Seriously?  No?  Then get away from me!"  He was yelling at a dozen small creatures that resembled dragons.  About one quarter the size of a chimaera, these wyrms had not been seen outside of the Emerald Dream for eons.  "Why?  Why do you torment me so?  Shoo, scatter, avaunt ye from my sight, oh ye troublesome creatures!"  Gorbash's long, whip-like tail came forward and smacked one of the creatures in the head.  It vanished from sight, only to reappear seconds later, almost as if it had shifted from this plane to the next.  Annoyed, the big green dragon sent a blast of acid towards all the small wyrms he could see.  This time all twelve of them vanished, and did not return.  Gorbash circled the clearing once, then began his descent.  As he did so, his form began to bend and twist, a red glow formed about his body as he neared the ground.  He became smaller and smaller, even as he came closer to them.  Once he landed, the glow faded and he could be seen again.  Gone was the massive draconic form, replaced by that of a sharp faced Elf wearing flowing green robes.  He gave a ponderous bow, along with a sweep of his arm.  "My friends, I have arrived!"  He looked up.  "What, no applause?"

                "Those were faerie dragons, guardians of the Emerald Dream!" Furion said in astonishment.

                "And annoying as hell," Gorbash added.  "Did you know, they thought me one of Ysera's ilk?  They dared tell me that I didn't have permission to be outside the Dream.  Who do they think they are?"

                "Ysera's personal guard," Furion said.

                "Oh..."

                "Such a wonderful entrance brother," Briog said.  He clapped his brother on the shoulder, causing the dragon-mage to wince slightly.  "Almost as interesting as mine."

                "Do I dare ask?"  Gorbash asked, shoving Briog's hand off his shoulder with a mock look of haughtinss on his face.

                "No.  At least, not if you value your life that is."

                "Oh, not so glorious huh?"

                "..."

                "Oh, now worries my brother.  I already know the story.  You see, those little wyrmlings may have been annoying, but they were very talkative, very gossipy.  Like little old women you know?  According to them, apparently a certain big, black dragon attacked a certain big, red dragonqueen."

                "FOR THE LAST TIME, I DID NOT ATTACK ALEXSTRASZA!"

                "Really?  Oh good, because I thought you were being the enormous bighead you usually are," Gorbash said with a toothy grin.  He turned to face Kerin, but saw Tyrande first.  His face lit up, and he strode towards her.  "My Elven Lady!  How wonderful to see you!"  He took her hand and kissed it.  "You are a vision!  Now, judging by the look of horror on your face, you-"  There was a loud crack of thunder and a flash of lightning.  Gorbash turned his head slightly.  Briog was hiding his face in his hands, and everyone else, including the ever stoic Samira and Furion, were laughing.  Keirn, on the other hand, has his arms crossed, his left hand fingers idly tapping his right arm.  His face was placid, but in his eyes raged a storm of annoyance (though the dragon thought he did see a hint of amusement in the Daedra's eyes).  Gorbash gulped and dropped the shocked and bewildered Tyrande's hands.  "Oh...hi Keirn, how are you?  Lovely day we're having, nice and chill with a hint of morning dew."

                "Gorbash, you and Briog certainly are brothers.  Briog here shows up and insults Tyrande, while you show up and make moves on her.  You both take extraordinary amounts of time report the status of your various missions, and all while the fate of this world and ours hangs in the balance.  Now I can accept humor at times of crisis, in fact I often encourage, but at this moment I would much prefer to hear about the status of our forces stuck in Northrend and _not_ how much you like the way the priestess looks."  The Kaldorei priestesses dark blue cheeks burned slightly red, but the dragon-mage seemed nonplussed.

                "Ruin my fun..." he muttered.  "I have good news and bad news to report.  The good news is, the goblins completed our flotilla of ships, and the army should be arriving within the week.  The bad news is, the Praetorian grew agitated and highjacked a number of the goblins' airships and will be arriving within the next few hours.  I tried to discourage them but...well, you know how paladins can be," he said.  He didn't notice that the Knight of the Silver Hand that accompanied Jaina scowled at him.  There was a collective sigh of exasperation at Gorbash's words as Keirn, Samira, Arlan, and the three other dragons let out their breaths at once.  This drew some attention from the sorceress Jaina, who seemed to view the Wardens with more trust than the other leaders.

                "This Praetorian...you do not like them?"

                "No," Samira said bluntly.

                "Not in this lifetime," both Thunder and Lightning said at the same time.

                "Some of them are alright," Kerin said.

                "True, but it is the paladins of Concordia that are the...truly horrible ones," Arlan added.  He looked at the paladin near Jaina.  "No offense."  The paladins scowl deepened, but a restraining hand from Jaina prevented him from speaking his mind.

                "Why does this Praetorian irk you?"

                "Well..."

                "I hate to say this, but perhaps we should head elsewhere to discuss this?" Thrall suggested.  "Here we are, the leaders of the four groups that managed to drive back the Burning Legion, standing out here in the open where any demon with an ounce of intelligence can attack us and take us by surprise."

                "A sound idea.  While the Legion may have been pushed back, we know that they have access to certain creatures that can easily take us out in one focused attack."  Keirn looked around the Night Elves' compound.  Neither the barrow dens or the halls of the druids and Sentinels were suitable, as both were fairly weak structures.  There was one structure though that caught his attention, if it could be called a structure at all.  The Kaldorei used few buildings in their warcamps, focusing mainly on the mobility of their ancient allies, the elderly Treants of the Ashenvale forests.  The Tree of Eternity, eldest and most powerful of all the Treant race, stood tall and proud among its fellows.  Wisps, spirits of the worlds ancient ancestors spiraled around the elder tree.  "Tell me Priestess, would your Tree of Eternity be willing to support us?  While on our world Treants are a foul, corrupt breed of tree creatures, your Treants seem to have more in common with the Ents.  I can think of no more peaceful place than the eaves of a living tree, and discussin the Praetorian is an issue that will require us to be at peace."

                "And the Praetorian can also be a tiring experience," Arlan put in.

                "I...I do not know.  For ages past the Treants have allowed us to station ourselves within their branches, but it has been millennia since the elder trees have given us that honor."

                "Then we need only ask, don't we?"  Keirn said.  He headed off towards the massive Tree of Eternity at a quick pace.  Dozens of feet tall, the Tree of Eternity towered over all other Treants, including the lesser elders, the Trees of Life and the Ages.  Keirn bowed deeply before the tree.  His words were well chosen and soft, unheard even by those standing by him.  The tree bobbed its head, lowering some of its branches to the forest floor to allow them to climb into its bow.  Keirn again bowed.  He stretched out his hands to the others, ushering them before him.  Furion, holding his Tyrande's  hand in his own, led the way.  Arlan held out his hand to Jaina, who took it quickly and followed him up.  The others followed suit, Keirn being the last to walk up.  They had entered a whole different world.  Keirn was reminded of the legends about the ancient Calad'hrim homes in the massive Lekjara trees of his home at the sight.  Luminescent bulbs of an unknown nature shrouded the Tree of Eternity's branches in hues of blue and green.  Light from the outside broke through the eaves, adding to the eerie glow.  Fireflies and other lightning bugs flitted between leaves, sensing the unexpected presence of living beings.  Also among them were the wisps, the spirits.  Their haunting elven faces nodded to the two night elves, and they disappeared.  They all seemed at ease, save for Thrall and his compatriots.  Both he and Cairn, as well as the blademaster, had to stoop slightly.  Despite the size of the tree, their heights and massive bulks made them ill suited for sitting among the trees.  As if sensing their discomfort, the interior space shifted slightly, branches lowering, coming together to form seating for the Horder officers.  Thrall, enchanted by the nature surrounded him, uttered a silent prayer to the spirit of the Earth.  They all found places to sit, the more agile (and smallest) of them, being Arlan, Tyrande, Jaina, and Samira, sat high in the branches.  Keirn eased himself down onto the base of the upper level.

                "Now, Master Hallyn, tell us about these...Praetorian of yours."

                "The force we brought with us to Azeroth is divided into two parts, aside from Samira, Arlan, and myself.  The first part is the twelve hundred person army, warriors and spellcasters drawn from all the free nations of our world.  They are regular soldiers and mages, not the elites of our world, but still ranked among the best."

                "We get along with them well," Arland said.

                "Indeed.  The second part of the force we brought with us is the Praetorian Guard.  When we Wardens were first given our powers, the free nations of the world decided to take it upon themselves to gather a force of their elite soldiers and combined them into a army of protectors for us Wardens."

                "Hence was born the Praetorian Guard."  Again, Arlan had added his commentary.

                "Fifty Praetorians were assigned to the each of the Wardens.  Given our power-"

                "-And our dislike of nations trying to seek favors from us by forcing these people on us-"

                "-We really did not require their aid."

                "Or want it," this from Samira.

                "But in order to keep the nations happy, we acquiessed to their proposal.  At first, the Praetorian Guardsmen and women were helpful and did not get in our way.  However, over time, they became more a hinderance than anything else."

                "Stalking us, constantly asking us if there was anything they could do for us.  I swear, one time one of them walked in on me in the bath just to annoy me."

                "We eventually managed to learn how to avoid their near omnipresence in our lives.  We would meet in secluded places, hiding our identities in order to keep them away.  Then our comrades began disappearing.  When the Wardens began to vanish from the world, the Praetorian Guard increased their watch over us-"

                "-as well as their constant interference in our need for seclusion-"

                "-and stayed closer to us at all times.  Now there are only three of us left, and our protectors have grown antsy."

                "They hate being away from us.  They want to cling to our cloaks and drag us into a cave.  As if that would help."

                "Because we came here to Azeroth, they insisted upon following us.  We forced them to stay at Northrend to make sure that the ships we ordered from the goblins were being built.  Their job there was to also watch the armies of the Lich King and keep tabs on their movements.  Now that the army itself is on the move, the Praetorian probably feels it is necessary to catch up to us, give their reports, and generally become a bother to us once more."

                "It sounds to me that you have little respect for those assigned to protect you," the paladin said.

                "We have a great level of respect for the Praetorian Guard," Arlan said.  "However, their leadership has basically transformed them into zealots."

                "You said their leaders were paladins."

                "Exactly.  The paladins of Concordia are a zealous lot whose holier-than-though attitude endears them to few people.  They are blinded by their own light most times, and that leads to big trouble."

                "Isn't one of your order a paladin?"

                "Yes, but that doesn't make him any different from the others.  For years he vied with Keirn to see who was the leader of the Wardens, despite Keirn telling him time and again that no one Warden had more authority than another.  Don't get me wrong, paladins are staunch warriors and loyal comrades, but sometimes they can be sanctimonious and their zealous nature can be overwhelming."

                "And they despise certain types of magic and beings.  The paladins in charge of Samira's, Kaloth's, and my own guards regard us with thinly veiled dislike," Keirn said.  "Samira's race are children of the ancient dark elves, who wielded their dark powers in opposition to their brethren the Calad'hrim.  Those dark powers are the opposite of everything Concordia's paladins believe in.  Kaloth is an orc, whose brethren formed a near unstoppable force to hold us back while their demonic enslavers attempted to take control of our world.  The fact that, for the most part, the orcs were enslaved did not matter to Concordia.  And I, as you know, am a child of dragons.  Dragons and paladins do not get on well, as again the paladins think dragons are merely one step below demons in terms of evil.  I cannot abide by such people, no matter how loyal they are to us.  If our world is to survive, we all have to get over our petty hatreds and work against the demons and other forces who go against peace."

                "Yet you hate the Praetorian."

                "There is a fine line between hate and dislike, sir knight.  We do not _hate_ the Praetorian, we _dislike_ their sicophantic ways.  That is all."

                For the next few hours, the Wardens and their new allies discussed the events that had led them all to the land of Kalimdor.  The invasion and fall of Lordaeron, the ordering of the Horde, the events that transpired between the orcs, their troll allies, and the mysterious sea witch and her minions on the islands near the Maelstrom.  They discussed the corruption of Ashenvale and Felwood, the creeping of demonic energies back into the creatures of the land.  And they spoke of the death of Cenarius.  Thrall had heard rumors that Grom had been involved in that battle, but he did not realize that Grom himself had been the great demigods murderer.

                "Had I not seen what Mannoroth had done to him, I would never have believed Grom capable of such a thing.  The Burning Legion has much to pay for.  They owe my people a pound of flesh and more."

                "We have all suffered losses from the Legion and its minions," Jaina said.  "Lordaeron, Azeroth, Stormwind, all of the lands of Azeroth have felt the terror of the Legion.  And then there was Arthas...he fell into the darkness-"

                "To become the Lich Kings greatest warrior, and the one who found the way for Archimonde to return to this world.  He and Kel'Thuzad are the ones who opened to portal to the Twisting Nether, allowing the Eredar warlock into this world once again.  Arthas is not the man he once was," Arlan said.

                "We met him in Northrend.  He was once human, but now he is truly one of the Lich Kings death knights.  Fortunately Ner'zhuls energies are locked away within the frozen throne atop the world.  If they were to be released, if Arthas were ever to take control of those powers, there would be little hope for your future."

                "And what if you were to stay here?"

                "Our world needs us, but if we were to stay here we could stop him.  Had we arrived a few moments earlier, and had your defenses not held, we would have destroyed Archimonde easily."

                "No Keirn, you could have taken on Archimonde easily.  It was to you and Pius that the gods gave the real power, remember?  As if your inherent abilities were not already good enough.  To give a tithe of their power to a half-dragon and the keeper of the Amulet of Uriel is to create warriors of great skill.  On our world only the Great Dragons and the gods themselves could stop you, here...only Medivh or the Aspects could stop you."

                "I'm trying to figure out if that was a good idea or a bad one on their part," Keirn said.  "I do not much like having these powers.  Fortunately we can only excercise them at times of when they are most needed."  Silence fell.  This revelation to the leaders of the free nations of Azeroth came as a surprise to them.  They had already known these three Wardens were great warriors, but they had not known they controlled such power.

                "So...." Furion began, but stopped.

                "Yes?"

                "So your power is above that of even those of Cenarius and the generals of the Burning Legion?"

                "Mine are..."

                "Whereas Samira and I are only merely as powerful as Cenarius and the generals of the Burning Legion."

                "How?  How is that possible?"

                "Our demons are tougher than yours."

                "Yes, but to hold this much power...we have seen what it can do.  Deathwing, Medivh, my brother Illidan, they all have such power, and they have been driven mad by it.  How is it you can wield such energies and not share the same fate?"

                "That answer is simple," Arlan said.  "We have people to share our burden with.  Deathwing was driven mad by the loss of his clan, so he fell into his power.  Medivh was forced at a young age to hold the powers of his mother Aegwynn, as well as the energies of Sargeras himself.  The conflict between light and dark did not give him much of a chance at a normal life.  Illidan was sealed away for ten thousand years with nothing to keep him company except for your watchers who, I might add, probably are not the best conversationalists.  Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, yet our power is not absolute.  As Keirn said, we can only access those powers given us by the gods when we cannot handle the situation ourselves.  So far we haven't had to do that."

                A horn sounded in the distance, the clarion call of the horns of the Sentinels.

                "It would seem that something approaches," Tyrande said.  "I hope it is this Praetorian Guard of yours and not some horde of demons from your world."

                "As do I..."  The fighters jumped from the tree, while trying their best to not harm the great tree that had graciously allowed them sit in it.  On the horizon they could see dozens of dark shapes approaching.  As they came closer, their shapes became more distinct.  Some of them were decidely wyrmic in appearance, while others were more birdlike.  Still others were large and bulbous, with spinning blades in the rear: goblin airships.  The massive zeppelins slowly made their way across the tops of the trees.  The other shapes took on even more form, there were dragons and gryphons escorting the airships.  They circled overhead and some of them began to land.

                From the lead zeppelin came three tall figures.  They wore armor of sivler and gold, with flowing capes of dark midnight blue flowing in the wind from the landing zeppelins.  At their sides were the blessed swords of their order, their silver helms ringing as they clanged against the armor from their clips on the broad belts.  On each of their breast plates was a stylized cross overlaid with a sword and shield.  There was a deep gasp from behind Keirn.  He inclined his head slightly to see the Knight of the Silver Hand suck in his breath.  _So the paladin finds someone who exudes holiness more than him..._ Keirn thought with a smile.  He turned his gaze back to the paladins of Concordia as they approached him, Samira, and Arlan.  The lead paladin, an  middle aged warrior with slight graying hair, stopped before them and bent to a knee.  The two other paladins fell into a similar position.  Before Keirn could tell them to stand a voice from the distance beat him to it.

                "Oh get to your feet you damnable fools!"  Behind the paladins, out of the zeppelins, came another trio of warriors.  Like the paladins they wore armor made out of silver, but in place of the gold they had lining of a black metal called ebony.  They wore cloaks of a light-leeching black material, and their dragonhelms also were attached to their belts.  At their waists hung swords similar in design to the paladins of Concordia.  And though they could not see them, Keirn and the other Wardens knew that at their backs hung short staves of embued with magical energies.

                "Who are they?" Jaina asked Arlan with a whisper.

                "They are templar, from the kingdom of Dyscallion, Concordia's neighbor.  While the paladins are in service of the god Wotan, the templar pay homage to the gods of magic," Arlan said to her silently.  "In other words, they're much nicer."  He winked and she stifled a laugh.  The Concordian knights were still on the ground, scowling at the templar commanders remarks.  The templar themselves were coming closer, smiles on their jovial faces.

                "Lord Hallyn, Lord Vermel, Lady Samira, good to see you once again," the leader of the templar said to them.  He neatly stepped over the paladins to shake Keirns hand.  "We were afraid we would miss you.  You haven't had any trouble here have you?"

                "No Captain Aenis, no real trouble."

                "Just the usual undead and demons right?"

                "Yes."

                "Good.  We need to fight too you know.  It's so boring being stuck in a frozen prison."  Captain Aenis looked down at the kneeling paladins.  "Oh...sorry about that Enthal, did I interrupt you?"  Keirn followed the templar's gaze."

                "Commander Enthal, I apologize for keeping you in that position," Keirn said, though there was little apology in his voice.  "How many times have I told you not to kneel  in front of me?"

                "Lord Hallyn, it is my duty as appointed to me by the Eternal Council-"

                "To hell with your council sir knight.  They appointed you to serve as my commander, correct?"

                "Yes my lord..." Commander Enthal said through clenched teeth.

                "And as _my_ commander it is your duty to follow my commands?"

                "Yes..."

                "Then stand up and do as you are ordered."  Both the paladin and his two cohorts stood.  "Excellent.  Anything to report?"

                "No m'lord, just that the Praetorian Guard is here to serve you."

                "Oh joy..." Thunder muttered from the back of thr group.


End file.
